


Gods and Monsters

by unevenodds



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Dark Sherlock, Drama, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Jim Moriarty, POV Original Character, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 30,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unevenodds/pseuds/unevenodds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17 year old orphan, Isla Byrne, takes refuge inside the home of her late parents' best friend: Dr John Watson. Her idyllic retreat is short lived, as Jim Moriarty invites Sherlock Holmes and his flatmates to play another one of his twisted games. But whose side will Isla choose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

"Oh Isla, how we'll miss you. It won't be the same now you're gone!" My former worker spoke with fake empathy in her tone

Since my parents death in 2009, I was put into the care of numerous different foster homes and families. None of them wanted me, it was obvious; it's the reason I was kicked out and moved again and again. All I needed was a stable home until I finished my A levels, and finally they were over. Bags packed, room empty, nowhere to go. What a great start to my adult life. I made my way down the stairs, past the gawking children as I lugged my bags behind me, and walked over to my social worker with the fakest smile I could conjure spread across my face.

"Thanks Marie, but I really need to get going, taxi's outside. Papers signed on my bed, thanks for everything." I turned on my heel and walked through the door without another word or glance.

The taxi driver greeted me and politely opened the door to help me put my bags in.

"So, where to?" He asked in a gruff London accent.

"Medical Clinic, 117A Harley Street, please." 

"Alright-y." 

The journey was about 20 minutes long, and butterflies filled my stomach the whole time. John Watson was a doctor at the clinic, my parents' best and closest friend. He was my godfather and practically my second dad. I knew he would've let me stay with him instead of being put in the system when they died, I was just clueless and too scared to do anything about it back then. 

The car pulled up outside a posh and formal looking building, the exact place I pictured John working. I handed the driver some money and thanked him, before pulling my bags out of the car and making my way up the stairs into the clinic.

A woman with long brown hair welcomed me with a smile as she not-so-discreetly looked me up and down, judging my attire.

"Hello, do you have an appointment?" She asked, leaning forward slightly. 

"Yes, 12:30 with Doctor Watson, I think."

She looked down and flicked a few pages in a large brown book, ticking her tongue whilst doing so.

"Ah yes, feel free to just go straight in. Room 12, down the hall and to your left. Would you like to store your bags in the cloakroom?"

I nodded and smiled as she got up from behind the desk and gestured for me to go while she moved all my things.

'Dr John H Watson's office' the sign on the wooden door read. I knocked three times and was taken by surprise when the door opened straight away, followed by arms being wrapped around me in a tight hug.

"Hello to you too, John." I laughed slightly, and his embrace loosened. He placed his hands on my shoulders and his face turned from happy to concerned and serious.

"Why didn't you come to me sooner? I could've helped. I didn't know you got put into the system."

"Honestly, I didn't want to cause any inconvenience. I'm just here to see you and tell you I'm okay, then I'll be on my way." I turned slightly red, not knowing exactly where my way would be.

"Don't be silly! You're coming to live with me, don't even think about arguing. Now sit down and we can get on with this and I'll take the rest of the day off to get you settled into the flat."

"John, please-"

"What did I say Iz? No arguing." I smiled at him trying to be firm, but his facial expression betrayed his tone.

"Thank you." I pulled him into a hug and then nodded, taking my seat opposite him.

"Ah, and before we get started, fair warning; my room mate can be a little bit temperamental, but you'll hardly know he's there and after a while he'll warm to you."

"Please, I've been putting up with foster kids and snobbish only children for 6 years, sure I can handle a moody middle-aged man."

 


	2. Two

"This is it, 221 Baker Street, home!" John spoke as he unloaded my bags from the back of the taxi with help from the driver. 

He had given me the low-down on his current living situation whilst we were in the car - Mrs Hudson, Sherlock and his unconventional life. I didn't fully understand as John had been brief on Sherlock's 'career', but he just seemed like an arrogant homicide detective. As he explained how close he was to his house-mates, I felt like nothing but a burden clinging on to the last piece of family I had left.

John threw me a set of keys and I unlocked the door, taken by surprise at the sudden shout of his name from the top of the stairs. Before me stood a lanky man with curly dark hair, he was dressed in a posh dressing gown and his eyebrows furrowed as he studied me standing in the doorway.

"Well you're not a client." He spoke, still analysing me.

Who I assumed was Sherlock Holmes was about to start speaking again, but John bustled in and quickly held his index finger before his face.

"Don't say a word Sherlock. This is Isla, she's a very close family friend and she's coming to live with us. You will make her feel welcome and if not, you won't get your nicotine fix privilege.

I stood slightly bewildered, this man seemed highly intelligent yet John was treating him like a child.

"She's an 17 year old orphan you can't just bring in stray dogs, John. I have cases to solve how will I concentrate with her around the house?"

"So you did tell him about me?" I let his comments slide and looked quizzically at John.

"No, he just knows things and that's **enough** Sherlock."

Everyone stood in silence for a few seconds, John glaring at Sherlock, Sherlock rolling his eyes and I played with the hem of my top, wishing someone would break the awkwardness.

"Right, well Sherlock help me take Isla's bags upstairs and then we can get you settled in." Instructed John, Sherlock huffed but grabbed my suitcase and headed upstairs.

"I am truly sorry about him, he's stressed at the moment and I promise he will warm to you."

"Don't worry about it, I won't take it to heart." I smiled as John led the way.

* * *

 

"I know it's a bit messy but it'll feel like home in no time. Feel free to start unpacking, call me if you need anything. Oh and, would you like a cup of tea?" John didn't patronise me, which made me feel a tad more comfortable in my new surroundings. He spoke to me as if he'd been with me for my whole life.

"I'm good thanks, just gonna get to it." I replied, and with a smile he left, closing the door on the way out.

Sherlock was moaning to John in the living room so I got out my phone and put my music on shuffle. I started with my clothes, hanging them up in the basic white wardrobe. The room was small but cute; there was a white corner desk, a single black framed bed and full length mirror hanging on the side of the wardrobe. You could tell it was a spare room, but it was cosy.

Hours flew by and it was around 6pm by the time I'd emptied bags and cleaned. I stood and admired my effort before picking up my phone and realising I'd listened to the album on loop for a ridiculous amount of times. A text came through from one of the only friends I had during sixth form, Ruby.

_Hey you bore, so you got released from Hell today and Callum is having a party tomorrow. Better be there and bring vodka x_

Getting drunk seemed like the best idea at the minute, but I had no clue how John would react.

"Iz, we've ordered a Chinese in if you want some." He called, right on queue, I hadn't eaten all day and could murder some sesame seed prawn toast.

"I'm coming!" I shouted back and slightly instantly regretting it, I didn't want to seem rude.

Sherlock walked into the living room just after me, eyes wide and phone in hand. He had changed into a long detective looking coat and a scarf was wrapped around his abnormally long neck.

"John. He's back." He spoke with no emotion in his face.

"What?" John replied, now his eyes had widened more than Sherlock's.

"He sent me a text message. ' _Come and play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty.'_ Call a cab. Now."

The men scrambled to get their shoes on and I stood completely bewildered.

"Shit, Isla. Sherlock can't Lestrade see to it? We can't leave her." Finally John had remembered I exist.

"This is Moriarty we're talking about, John. He's psychotic. We can't ignore him to babysit."

Sherlock left the apartment and John paced between myself and the door a few times before stopping in front of me.

"I am so sorry, Iz. I really don't want to leave you but this is important and we can't take you with us. I'll leave you some money, buy a film on Sky do whatever, I am _so_ sorry! We will make up for it tomorrow, I have to go, see you later." John ran out, slamming the door after him before I could even respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won't be following the tv episodes storylines very closely but the overall storyline will be the same. Thanks for reading!


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just taking a precaution so no one hates me - this chapter contains spoilers for the film The Notebook.

The evening alone dragged awfully slow. I followed John's instructions and downloaded the Notebook onto the TV, which I could tell would give Mr Holmes something to complain about once he was home - if the boys ever did come back. Where had they even gone? All I could make out was a psychotic Jim. 

I had a brief insight to Sherlock's 'career', I remember news coverage of one of his cases being on the telly in the foster's lounge. Marie had been quick to turn it off due to its 'disturbing nature towards the younger children'.

Thinking back on all the nights confined to my cardboard box of a room, hearing toddlers crying and pre teens arguing through the paper thin walls - being alone tonight didn't seem so awful. It also gave me an excuse to guilt trip John into letting me out tomorrow night, even know I'm almost 18 I still feel he'll take on the newly appointed guardian role very seriously. 

I had just got comfy and was trying to hold back the tears as Allie accepted Lon's marriage proposal. 

"You should be with Noah! You know that you silly bitch, go find him!" I yelled at the TV, far too engrossed in the film to remember that John had ordered a Chinese when the doorbell rang. 

"Shit." I cursed under my breath as the shrill caused me to jump out of my skin.

"I'm coming!" I fumbled for the door keys and pulled the blanket over my shoulders creating a warm cape. 

Running down the narrow wooden stairs I fumbled a few times and made a mental note that one day I was definitely going to end up falling head first down them. 

Still chuckling at my clumsiness, I pulled the door open to be greeted with possibly the most handsome delivery man I'd ever witnessed. 

"Hi, delivery for J Watson, that'll come to £26.50 please." He stated with a toothy smile. 

"Oh shit, money's upstairs I need to run up and get it, sorry completely forgot." I turned red and grimaced at myself trying to remember where John had put the emergency money. 

"No worries, Miss. Would you mind if I came in, I can bring all your food up its just that it's pouring down and I don't want to get this bag of prawn crackers soaking wet."

"Sure, follow me. Watch the stairs though, they're a bloody death trap." He laughed, shutting the door on his way in and followed me upstairs to the apartment. 

"So, is all this food just for you?" Getting a better look at him in the light of the living room, I realised the delivery guy was definitely over 6 foot, with blonde-ginger hair and scruffy stubble. He set out the foil boxes on the coffe table, then stood awkwardly awaiting a response. 

"Uh, not quite. My... Friends had to leave suddenly so I guess I've got it all to myself." What even were John and Sherlock to me? Friends? Estranged family?

"So no boyfriend, I take it?" The man smirked as I pulled two twenty pound notes out of the coffe jar. 

"What makes you say that?"

"Mostly the blanket cape and The Notebook being on." I laughed awkwardly and handed him the money, watching his hands rummage around for some change in his pocket. I noticed a few cuts and scars on his palms and had to stop myself from staring. 

"Well, I'd be embarrassed at that,- correct assumption by the way. But you should be more that you recognise The Notebook by scenes." The tables turned and I giggled as this grown man blushed and stared at the ground. 

"Well on that note I guess I best be off, get home before the rain turns to thunder and lightening." He smiled and I showed him the way back out. 

"I'd hate doing deliveries on a night like this, you must have a load still to do"

"No, what makes you say that?" He asks as I open the door for him. 

"I just guessed, due to your rather large shoulder bag."

"Oh right, yeah, well that's for another job. Recession you see, need to pick up some money on the side." He winked and stepped back out into the horrid weather. 

"I'll be seeing you, Miss J Watson."

"It's Isla, actually. Miss Isla Byrne for the reference."

He cockily walked backwards and saluted with a smirk before running across the street to a large black SUV, not exactly the most stereotypical delivery man vehicle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since writing this I've been reading millions of fics and being so annoyed when I realise there's only 10 chapters and the author hasn't updated since 2014... So I thought I should start writing again.


	4. Four

"Jesus Christ, how long have you been there?" I scrambled on the sofa as I awoke to be faced with Sherlock sitting staring and me with his chin rested on his locked fingers, leaned forward, staring emotionlessly.

Sherlocked sighed and all in one quick motion, leaned back, checked his watch, and crossed his legs.

"One hour, 24 minutes. How late did you stay up last night? By the position you sleep in I assumed you were an early bird, but perhaps the large consumption of carbohydrates and questionable protein and fats last night lengthened your sleep cycle." He held eye contact as I digested everything he had just said.

"I do usually, but as you so poetically put it, I drowned myself in Chinese food and I can never sleep on a bloated stomach so watched a load of films and fell asleep on the couch."

A smile crept across Sherlock's face as his predictions were correct.

"Isla, I can't even begin to comprehend how sorry I am for leaving you last night! Things... happened, and we were called. There's a court hearing this afternoon and another one tomorrow morning. Honestly, Moriarty will be found 100% guilty there's no doubt about it. He'll soon be out of our way. The court will be bloody stupid if they charge him any different." As John spoke I couldn't tell if he was reassuring me, Sherlock, or himself. 

"Don't worry about it John, honest. I've been asked out tonight by a mate anyway, just a quiet get together at hers - is that cool with you guys?" I asked as I stood up, folding the blanket I assumed John had draped over me when he and Sherlock had got in. 

I wasn't sure why I was asking permission from John. It's not that I was worried about this whole 'Moriarty' thing, or that I seeked his approval; it's just, in a day I had gone from being alone in the world to feeling like I finally had a father again. Under the circumstances in which my parents had died, social services decided to put me straight into the system instead of contacting godparents or distant relatives - they deemed me as 'extremely unsafe from an unknown source'. 

"Right. Yeah, thats fine. Don't you think, Sherlock?" John shifted position and furrowed his eyebrows, this time seeking Sherlock's approval.

"Well, Moriarty broke into the three highest secured establishments in Europe, he could most definitely break out of a prison cell - so if you're second handed asking me, John, is she safe wandering the streets of London tonight then my reply is no, but you will never be safe in this place. Plus there is no way Moriarty knows of her connection to us so after all he isn't a direct threat, only his personal hitmen are." 

"To me that sounds like a blessing?" I smirked at Sherlock as John stood fretting. 

Sherlock was a smart cock, but pretty funny in his own way.

"Don't worry, John. I'll get a taxi there and back, no walking alone in the dark, and I'll send you text updates." I stood and put my arm around his shoulder, remembering the last time I saw him my head didn't even reach his hips. 

It was incredibly easy to feel comfortable around John after not seeing him for years, we had gone from the closest family friends, to complete strangers, to living together and it should've felt odd and horribly awkward but I've never felt more at home.

"Sherlock, shut up. And Isla, text me when you're there and when you're coming home. I'll probably call a few times too." He returned the gesture and placed an arm on my back before ruffling my hair.

"Where did the little girl I remember go?"


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for all the hits so far! Some reviews would be mega appreciated as I'd love to know all your thoughts on this, especially as this is my first fic! 
> 
> Also, things are definitely going to pick up at the end of this chapter/start of next, promise!

The three of us sat spread across the living space - Sherlock sat at his desk, John in his chair, and I was sprawled out on the sofa. John flicked through the Independent whilst Sherlock inspected a skull intensely; between turning the pages of the Cosmopolitan magazine John had awkwardly picked up for me while he was out, I lifted my eyes to watch Sherlock. 

"So, is it yours, Sherlock?" I placed the magazine in my lap and smiled at the man at the desk.

John clocked onto my reference and laughed whilst giving me a wink.

"Is what mine? Why are you laughing?"

"Sarcasm, Sherlock." John stated as he stood to re-boil the kettle.

I picked up my phone to check my texts, making sure the party tonight was still on, when I realised the time. Jim Moriarty's trial started at 1:00 and the boys were still in dressing gowns and slippers with no intention to move.

"Guys, you do realise the trial is in 25 minutes, right?"

"What? No it doesn't, it's only 11:35 now." John furrowed his eyebrows at me and Sherlock raised his gaze from the skull for the first time in hours.

"Oh, god. No - the clocks went forward this morning, it's just gone 12:30." 

"Shit! Get up Sherlock, we need to get dressed! Bloody hell. Put the skull down!" John ordered Sherlock around like a child and I had to refrain from laughing at their relationship.

"I'll run outside and call a taxi. The Old Bailey is about 20 minutes away, you literally have like 5 minutes to get ready."

"How do you know the distance?" Sherlock spoke, finally getting up from the desk.

"I don't know, I know London I guess. Not hard."

He stared at me quizzically, but John's swearing from down the hall caused him to roll his eyes and run to his room to get dressed.

Laughing to myself, I pulled some shoes on and ran down the stairs, preparing myself to sprint to Marylebone Road and call - and try to hold - a taxi. As I exited the door, shouts and flashing lights engulfed my senses. What the hell was this? Journalists and cameramen swarmed the porch, blocking the entire pavement so I couldn't even see directly ahead of me.

"Are you linked to Sherlock Holmes?!"

"Who are you? Where is Sherlock and John Watson?!"

"What do you know about the Jim Moriarty case?!"

As questions I had no desire to answer were shouted in my face, I held my arm up to my face to see a man breaking through the crowd.

"Move out of the way now or I'll get a warrant for all of your arrests on the ground of anti-social behaviour and trespassing." The man shouted sternly, although his face seemed tired yet gentle. He offered me a smile and put a hand on the small of my back, guiding me out of the spotlight and into a police car parked on the side of the road. He closed the door behind him as we both sat in the back seats and he let out a huff.

"Sorry about that, bloody nightmare aren't they. I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, by the way." The DI had a soft yet rough London accent, if that was even possible.

"No worries, thanks for rescuing me." I laughed, peering through the car window at the herd of reporters waiting eagerly for Sherlock and John's arrival.

"Don't mention it," he shot back a wide grin. "So you're Isla, right? John's niece?"

"Yeah, well, goddaughter."

"That's the one! He mentioned you were staying with him and Sherlock the other night." The name Lestrade finally clicked in my mind, he was who John had tried to persuade Sherlock to look over the Moriarty case last night.

"I was just going down to the main road to call them both a taxi, they're running slightly late - I didn't realise they were being picked up." Greg chuckled and ran his hand over his scruffy stubble whilst shaking his head.

"Trust those two thinking it would be a good idea to roll up to the trial of the century in a black cab. I did text Sherlock the time we were picking them up, but I doubt he even has my number saved in his phone." Lestrade looked slightly annoyed by this.

"Don't worry, I don't think he even has his parents' number's." I smiled at him, earning a chuckle and eye roll.

The crowd outside livened up again, signalling the boys were finally ready to go. A few more police officers exited cars parked in front and behind the one we were currently sad in, to control the crowd and escort the men into a vehicle. Lestrade opened the door and got out, I followed and smiled at John as he walked towards us.

"Are you not coming to the trial?" Lestrade asked.

"No, I'm a bit busy."

"And she is not interested in the slightest in James Moriarty." Sherlock spoke as he ducked into the car.

"Fair enough."

"I hope it goes well. Let me know the outcome, okay?" I asked John and Greg.

"Course we will. He's bound to be found guilty for this, all the evidence points blatantly towards him. The jury will be a load of idiots if they think otherwise. See you, Isla." The DI waved as he walked to the other side of the car and slipped into the driver's seat.

"Text me if you leave before we get back, I'll see you later."

"I will, bye John! Tell Sherlock I say bye too." I smiled before turning around and ducking back into the door of 221B Baker Street.

* * *

4 hours later, John and Sherlock hadn't returned home yet, but I'd washed my hair, fake tanned and done my make-up. Bearing in mind I hadn't seen any of my friends for weeks, let alone gotten drunk for months, I was so excited for tonight and nothing could ruin it.

I sat still in my towel on the edge of my bed and stared at the lack of clothes in my wardrobe deciding on what to wear. It wasn't exactly a dressy party - just an end of year gathering, any excuse to get smashed. I decided on a black off the shoulder romper and proceeded to dry my long, dark blonde hair and curl it into soft, messy beach waves. Tanned, bronzed natural make-up and feeling comfortable in my own skin for the first time in years. I eyed my few pairs of shoes and decided to just pull on some old converse as it was only casual.

I was ready to leave the house by 6:00, prepared for the hour long ride to Callum's house - the part I'd managed to bypass with John. Before leaving, I grabbed my phone charger, keys, purse and an oversized Hard Rock Cafe sweater and threw them into my bag. Making my way to Marylebone Road, I saw a cab drive down towards me with it's light on, I ran into view and stuck an arm out as I remembered to text John.

"Hi, 17 Heath Road, Weybridge please." I told the driver, slightly out of breath.

"Sure thing." He replied in a strangely familiar voice. I brushed it off and climbed into the car, pulling my phone out to let John know I'd left and to tell Ruby I was on my way.

The drive was dull and I wasted too much of my phone battery trying to avoid awkward conversation with the driver, who kept blatantly making eye contact with in the rear view mirror.

"So, what are you doing going all the way out to Surrey, Miss Byrne?" The cab driver asked, his voice taking me by surprise.

"Oh, well actually my friend is- wait, how do you know my name?" As my heart rate increased slightly, my phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out with my eyes fixed on the smirking driver.

"Hello?" I breathed, not bothering to check the Caller ID.

"Not guilty, they found him not guilty." John stated firmly with anger in his voice.

"What?! How? That's impossible." My gaze diverted out the window, taken aback by the jury's decision.

"No defence and he's walked free."

"Shit," I murmured. "But after everything you told me about the things he's done to you, to Sherlock. He tried to blow you up, he broke into the Tower of London, the Bank of England and opened Pentonville Prison... and he murdered people purely to play a game with Sherlock! He's a psychopath!"

"I know, Isla, I know. Sherlock is definitely in danger, I think it's best you stay away from Baker Street tonight. I don't want you caught up in this, especially since your face has been plastered over all media outlets from this morning."

"Okay, John. Can you do me a favour?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Send me Sherlock's number, I want to make sure he's alright and feel we haven't got off on the best foot."

"Of course. And don't take it to heart, you've hardly seen each other since you moved in and the whole Moriarty thing is driving him mad even if he won't admit it."

"I know. See you soon, John."

"See you later, Iz. Stay safe tonight."

"I will." I hung up and took a deep breath in, processing everything that had happened in the past 5 minutes.

"Love, do you mind if we take a slight detour? Just got a buzz that someone else is going the same way as you and we're still in London so may as well go pick him up." The driver spoke up, turning the car around harshly.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." I replied, slightly disorientated from thoughts racing through my mind.

"Wait, we're still in London? We've been driving for over half an hour now... and how do you know me?!" I looked out the window, observing our surroundings, and realised we were somewhere near Belgravia, 15 minutes away from Baker Street.

"Traffics been a nightmare," the driver laughed.

The car stopped abruptly next to a small park. The driver quickly got out of the car, and before I knew it the door beside me was flung open and I was pushed onto my side.

"Get off! What the fuck?!" I shouted as I heard the other back seat door open.

"Stop kicking, for fuck's sake." I was face to face with the driver, and his voice was coated in anger and sounded gruff.

And then it hit me. My eyes widened as I realised this man was the delivery guy from last night.

"Wait! I know who you are." My voice trailed off as my head hit the dusty seat and an arm crushed my rib cage.

"Told you I had to work a few jobs, didn't I love?" He winked as something sharp stabbed into my neck. I fell onto the floor of the car as the door slammed shut and the man returned to the driver's seat. 

As I fumbled on the floor, trying to run or at least get up, I was met with deep brown, beetle like eyes.

"Goodnight, Isla." An Irish drawl rang through my ears, sending me into a void of darkness.

 


	6. Six

I awoke to the sound of gunshots at the foot of the large king sized bed I was uncomfortably sprawled across.

"Good morning, sweetheart." The tall, blonde man stood in the doorway with a blank expression on his face. He twiddled the gun in his hand between his fingers as he leant against the doorframe and raised his eyebrows at me.

"If you're gonna throw up, do it in the toilet. Jim will not be impressed with vomit on the new flooring." He chuckled awkwardly and gestured towards the en suite to the right of the bed.

I said nothing and slowly turned my body around to get off the bed, the man whose name I still didn't know blocked most of the doorway, but I still had a chance to run. Without thinking any further, I attempted to bolt out of the door, but my legs betrayed me and I fell in a heap at his feet.

"I respect your efforts, but please don't do anything you'll end up regretting. Trying to runaway is a stupid idea." He spoke as he roughly lifted me up and threw me onto the marble floored bathroom. I let out a small shriek of pain as my ribs hit the floor, a searing pain running through my upper chest. I wanted to cry, and he knew I was weak, but I didn't want to show it.

"Where am I?" I lifted my chin shakily and made eye contact, trying my hardest to demand an answer, but all that came out was a broken and quiet question.

"Home. For now, I guess." 

"I'm not staying here, take me back. Now!" My voice choked as tears threatened to fall from my eyes, "who are you? What do you want from me, please?"

His jaw tightened and he knelt in front of me slowly, never breaking eye contact.

"Look, kid, just get yourself cleaned up, okay? You'll find out everything soon. And the name's Sebastian Moran, you'll meet Jim when you're ready." There was a hint of compassion is his voice and his eyes looked worried, betraying his tough exterior.

He left the bathroom without looking back, shutting the door on his way. I inspected the bathroom and held onto the sink for support to lift myself onto my feet. I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink; how the hell did I get into this situation? What even is this situation? To my right was a lavish, marble, walk in shower. I hesitantly walked towards it, another gun shot rang through the house indicating I needed to hurry up. I walked as quickly as my weak legs could carry me, and turned the shower on. Immersing myself in almost boiling hot water, I ran through all that I could remember in my head. I left 221B Baker Street. I hailed a taxi. No, it was almost as if the taxi was waiting for me; none stop directly on Baker Street John had said... I was on my way to Weybridge. We made a detour. Picked a guy up. Next to a park? In a posh part of London- wait, by the decor of the bedroom and en suite we were still in a posh part of London. Then a crushing weight pushed down on my chest. There was another man in the seat next to me. Then I blacked out; I had almost nothing to go on. Turning the shower off after only cleaning my body with a posh looking wash, I felt some strength regained in my legs and made my way to the window. I dried myself off and almost dropped my towel when I realised where we were - Belgravia?! Details were coming back to me, I remember the driver, Sebastian, picking up the man near Belgravia. At least I wasn't far from Baker Street. Oh, god! John! He must be worried sick. 

"Throw this on. We found it in your bag when we searched you last night," Sebastian was once again stood in the doorway, holding the sweater I had packed the day before. "And hurry up, Jim's getting impatient and you don't want him to come up himself." He chucked my jumper on the bed and left.

Discarding my towel, I pulled my hoodie on and thanked god it was oversized, as I only had my underwear from last night to wear underneath it. I brushed my hair with my fingers and pushed it back out of my face. Not knowing what I would find, I left the room and padded barefoot down a wide staircase leading to the entrance of the house. Stopping halfway down, I peered over the bannister, no one there. I could easily make a run for it- if the front door wasn't locked. Taking a deep breath, I silently reached the bottom and jogged to the door reaching for the handle. Behind me, the sound of a gun being loaded pulled a gasp from my lungs as I turned around quickly, hands raised in defeat.

"Come on, pet. Leaving me before we've even had a chance to be formally introduced?"


	7. Seven

Jim Moriarty. Jim Moriarty stood before me with a gun poised at my chest.

"Don't play any of your little games with me, ordinary games are so  _boring._ I want to show you what a real game is like." His beetle eyes bored into mine as he spoke, the gun still firmly aimed at me.

"Why am I here?"

"Because you're special." 

"How am I special? You don't even know me." A fierce rage grew inside of me, or maybe it was just stupidity. I couldn't believe I had been so ignorant to not realise who I was dealing with. Sebastian had used Jim's name freely before and I hadn't even flinched at it. The psychopath who tried to murder my godfather and his best friend stood before me, the man who only yesterday had been cleared for crimes he so obviously committed.

"All will be revealed, Isla," he lowered the gun and gestured to the room beside him. "Now, be a good girl and come in here, don't make me drag you by your pretty long hair."

So much could go wrong, yet I reluctantly obliged, holding my breath as I slowly passed him and felt the gun tickle against the back of my neck.

"Off you pop." He said in a sing-song voice.

I entered the room to find files upon files scattered across a dining table, pictures of John, Sherlock, Lestrade and myself from yesterday spread on the floor.

"Please," I begged turning around to face Jim, "don't hurt them."

"Well, I must say I didn't expect that. I thought you'd beg for your own life," he grabbed my wrist and ran the gun along my cheekbone, holding me so I couldn't run. "Your loyalties lie with me now anyway, not the Virgin and his blogger."

I pulled my arm away and walked towards the photos of my godfather and roommate, none of this made sense; I needed answers and a way out.

"You don't even know me. I am of no use to you, you're just a fucking psychopath." I spat at the man holding the gun behind me.

"Oh, but I do. I did my paperwork on you and you, you are nowhere near as dull and innocent as your godfather thinks you are."

"Why do you want me?" I asked a final time, bolder and more firmly as my patience was growing thin and fright was engulfing my senses.

He walked towards me with a manic smile on his face until I was pushed against the edge of the wooden table, his hands to either side of me, pinning my body in place with his weight.

"You're going to put a show on for me, be the key in my game. I want you to play for my team - not for the side of the angels. I know about you, Isla. I know about your parents' murder, so sad, so tragic, you were so young. Something like that would take it's toll on an innocent little 10 year old girl-"

"Stop, just stop it, please." Tears welled in my eyes as a smirk grew wide on his face, knowing I knew what he knew.

"But it did! Didn't it? Let me tell you a story: in 2012, 15 year old William Howard falls down the stairs in Richmond's Foster Home. His autopsy proved it was an accident, but the way he fell - it was as if he was speaking to someone moments before his death. But... the last person who spoke to him was 12 year old Isla Byrne. The two never got on, he would always pull her hair and call her names, typical childish crush. But the little girl knew how to stand up for herself, her father was a drunk and her mother taught her self defence. For a few weeks, the boy had been pushing the little birdie to her limits, she wanted to make him pay. Big, aggressive boys should never win - don't you think, Isla? So on December 15th, 2012, the young girl lead the boy to the fourth floor staircase. She pretended she was going to kiss him! You're going to like where this is going, Isla, trust me. She walked towards the boy, he was nervous, he'd never kissed a girl before! She placed her lips on his mouth, and with one step back too far, bye bye Willy."

By this point, I was in hysterics, still trapped by the confinement of his body and words. The memories came racing back and I shook my head violently trying to rid them of my mind. I pushed on his chest as hard as I could, kicked his shins and sobbed. The adrenaline had emptied my body and I slumped slowly against the table onto the floor.

"I want you to remember what I know, Isla. I know what you're capable of," he smiled like a maniac, crouched in front of me. "You're going to be my weapon to bring down Sherlock Holmes."

 


	8. Eight

**Moriarty's POV**

Her green, owl like eyes widened with fear as she tried to scramble as far away from me as she could. She was acting like such a girl, it disgusted me. If I wanted to turn her into a weapon, she needed to sort herself out and toughen up. I knew what was deep inside of her - I just needed to find a way to release it.

"Did you like Seb's acting by the way? 'Sebastian the cabbie', 'Sebastian the delivery man'. Creative aren't I? Surprised you didn't notice him sooner on, not very eagle eyed, are you?" She stared back at me confused. I suddenly backed away from her, making her jump as I stood up. "He drove you from John Watson's surgery to Baker Street. Apparently he told you about me, I'm just flattered."

"Don't be. He was telling me how much of a psychopath you are. How you should be locked away to never see daylight again." She snarled at me, teeth grit but eyes weak. I approached her once again and pulled her to her feet by a fistful of hair.

"You throw the word 'psychopath' around a lot for a girl who murdered a boy 3 years older than her."

I slowly looked her up and down, licking my lips. She squirmed under my grasp and let out small pleads for me to let her go. Feeling disgusted by her weak nature I threw her to the ground hard and circled her, like a vulture stalking it's prey.

"Speaking of acting, I want you to do a little job for me. I'm letting you go back to 221B Baker Street for a little while, obviously undercover and you'll be highly monitored. Your job is to convince your clueless god-daddy and his boyfriend that everything is fine but you're going to be away for a while. I don't care how you do it, just make it happen. I'll have eyes and ears on you 24/7 so don't you dare try and run or tell them a  _thing_. I will find out and I will not hesitate to shoot you."

"Why bother with me when you're so eager to kill me?" Her tears had dried, leaving puffiness and stains on her skin, the marks scattered along her body looked painful but she didn't whinge or moan.

"All good things must come to an end, but you haven't nearly reached yours yet," I smiled knowing she wouldn't understand that this could be the start of the end for her, or if she played her cards right, the start to a new life. "Put your clothes back on from last night. Sebastian is taking you back to Baker Street and you're going to convince the boys you just got  _so_ drunk last night you had to stay over somewhere and forgot how to use a mobile phone."

I watched her stand from the middle of the room, eyes scanning over my masterfully arranged files on her and everyone ever affiliated with her.

"So, what? I'm guessing you'll be in contact with me." She said with dry sarcasm.

"Someone will. You'll be seeing me very soon, Isla."

* * *

 

**Isla's POV**

I didn't know whether to be scared or glad to be going home to Baker Street, if I could even call it home now. How the hell had this happened? I'd lived with John and Sherlock for 2 fucking days and I was caught in the web of a criminal mastermind. Sebastian had thrown my bag in the back of his large black SUV and I sat on the cold leather seat next to it dressed in my romper and hoodie as Jim instructed. I studied our surroundings on the drive back, memorising every turn, roundabout and familiar road. At least I knew where I was; if I ever found myself in that god-forsaken house again (which no doubt I would) at least I'd know a route home, or I could turn the address into the police... I'd bonded with Greg Lestrade, he could help me, not to mention John and Sherlock. No. I couldn't tell them a thing - Moriarty wouldn't have a second thought on pulling the trigger on the four of us.

"I know what you're thinking, but you really haven't seen anything of Jim yet," Sebastian broke the 10 minute long silence as we approached Marylebone Road. "I'm telling you, just do what he says, don't try anything stupid."

I kept a sour face, not letting my expression betray my thoughts.

He stopped the car down a small slip road a few minutes away from the flat and turned around in his seat to look me in the eye, "I'll drop you off here. Like I said, just don't do anything you'll regret. Oh, and before you go, the side effects from the sedation we gave you last night should kick in around now."

Without a word, I grabbed my bag and exited the car without looking back. I composed my breathing as I walked down Baker Street, prepared to lie to the only family I had left in the world.

Standing in front the door to 221B, I finalised the lie in my head; running through lines I had prepared during the short walk from where Sebastian had left me. I bit my lips and rubbed my eyes before pulling the key out of my bag and unlocking the front door. Nausea hit me as I walked up the stairs and I had to grip onto the banister for support, as I did the door flung open, revealing an extremely worried looking John.

"Isla! Where the hell have you been?! We were worried sick!" His voice was laced with anger but all I could see was worry in his eyes. 

"Not so loud, John." I placed a hand on my head as I reached the small landing.

"Jesus Christ, when was the last time you drank something?" He took my bag and wrapped an arm around my waist, leading me to sit at the kitchen table.

"I'm really sorry, John. I drank a bit too much and Ruby's mum wouldn't let me get a taxi home in the state I was apparently in. I slept at hers and called for a ride as soon as I woke up."

"I can bloody tell you did. Drink this bottle of water, all of it," I groaned and moved my head from the palm of my hands, the thought of anything entering my system made me want to throw up. "If you don't drink it I'll attach you to a drip." He warned with a small smile on his face.

"I really am sorry, John. I don't remember a thing, I wasn't even capable of texting or calling."

He pulled up a chair next to me and unscrewed the bottle, pushing it gently towards me before placing a hand on my knee.

"It's okay, I was just worried. You've been living with me for 2 days, I didn't want something to happen to you already, god forbid." I forced a smile in reply.

"God forbid." I whispered as I started taking small sips.

"You say you don't remember a thing, yet you know you couldn't call or text?" I hadn't even seen Sherlock sitting in his armchair, but as he walked towards us I had to fight to keep my composure. I could not risk him finding out I was lying.

"Yeah, I just assumed I couldn't."

"Assumption isn't valid enough, you said 'I wasn't even capable', not 'I don't think I was even capable'." I swallowed hard as he eyed me intensely.

"Alright, Mr Know It All, let her breathe," John spoke breaking the tension. "God, you look like you're about to throw up, come on, let's get you to the bathroom, quick." 

* * *

Hours later, I was sat in the living room wrapped in a blanket with 5 empty bottles of water scattered around me and a packet of dry Digestives. Sherlock had carried on silently inspecting me as the three of us watched dull Saturday night TV. 

"So, what happened after the trial yesterday?" I forced the words out, not being able to speak his name.

"Moriarty turned up at the apartment for some afternoon tea." Sherlock replied quickly.

"Really?!" I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, and my shock seemed to surprise him and his eyebrows furrowed slightly before he replied.

"Yes. Dropped by to tell me how he won over the jury so they'd act in his favour. Also, apparently, he 'owes me a fall'."

"The man's an absolute psychopath," John added. My body stiffened and I had to hold back tears as I knew this all too well. My change in demeanour had evidently been obvious as John tutted sympathetically and Sherlock's eyebrows deepened into his nose as he stared at me. "Isla, I promise you he's nothing to worry about. Sherlock and I wouldn't put you in harm's way like that. Even Sherlock said yesterday there's no way he knows you're here."

"Yeah, I know, I'm just feeling really sick again. Excuse me." I ran from the room, holding my hand over my mouth to choke the sobs. 

Locking myself in the bathroom, I put both hands on the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I needed a way out of this. Moriarty couldn't hurt Sherlock and John if I ran away after giving them the excuse for my leaving, I'd followed his plan - just taking a little detour, one that I had no intention of returning from. I flushed the toilet, brushed my teeth and washed my hands before returning to Sherlock and John to make the lie seem more realistic.

"You okay, Iz?" John questioned as I sat back down.

"Yeah, much better actually," Sherlock's gaze was still locked on me, but I shook it off and carried on confidently with my plan. "By the way, I got an email a week ago from ITV Production, I have an internship with them."

John's face lit up as I spoke. "That's amazing! When is it? How long for?"

"It starts on Monday, and it's permanent for 12 months, paid with accommodation"

"But that's in two days, and I've only just got you back," his voice trailed off and guilt circled my mind. "Do you need the accommodation? It's only a 20 minute commute to Southbank, the Jubilee line goes straight to Waterloo, it's not a long-"

"John, listen. It's long days and it'll go into the nights, maybe even early mornings sometimes, staying across the road is the easiest thing. Think of it like I'm only 20 minutes away this time and you know where I am almost 24/7." I gave him a weak smile and he returned only a slightly stronger one.

"That's true. I'm really proud of you for this, though."

"Thanks John, I appreciate it."

Sherlock broke the sentimental moment by sounding an awkward cough and holding his phone in the air.

"Lestrade just text. The son and daughter of the Ambassador to the US have been kidnapped from their boarding school. The Ambassador has personally asked for my help, we should go." John sighed and looked at me sympathetically. 

"Do you want to come, Iz?"

"She can't come to a crime scene, it's all classified and she could be put in danger."

"Sherlock, shut up. You took me to my first crime scene anyway." Sherlock muttered something inaudible under his breath that John didn't acknowledge.

"No, it's cool, don't worry. I should probably have an early night anyway." 

John's expression turned from sympathetic to guilty to sad in a matter of moments. I threw him an 'it's okay' glance and he seemed to be relieved slightly.

"Okay. Let me go change my shirt and grab my coat, I'll be 5 minutes." As he left the room, I stood up to head to my room.

"Why are you lying to us?" Sherlock spoke as John's door slammed shut.

My heart rate quickened and I had to regain my breath. "Pardon?"

"You're lying to us and I want to know why."

"How could you accuse me of that? John's family I wouldn't lie to him."

"It's written all over you, the way your jumper was over your outfit when you came in, your vomit wasn't from alcohol, and your shoelaces are tied too neatly for a hangover."

"You checked my vomit?"

"Look. I did it because... John, he cares about you. I don't understand sentiment but he's my only friend, someone I want to protect. I know if he was lying to me this obviously I'd want to know what had happened, so please, tell me."

There was a dead silence before I sighed and sat on the arm of the sofa, laughing awkwardly to myself.

"Okay. The truth is; I stayed at a boy's house last night," (not a complete lie), "I didn't want to tell either of you because it would've been awkward, y'know. We... did it. I just didn't want to bring it up." I felt my cheeks turn rosy red, and Sherlock's posture stiffened as he looked lost for words.

"Oh, right. Um, okay. Yes. Well, I see why you didn't want to bring it up."

"Didn't want to bring what up?" John shrugged his coat on as he looked between Sherlock and I.

"I was quizzing Isla on her parents' death," Sherlock lied with ease. "She seemed uncomfortable with the discussion."

"For god's sake Sherlock, I told you to drop it." John lectured.

"It's okay, honestly. I know he meant no harm." I smiled at both of the men.

"We should get going. See you later, Iz." John hugged me as he walked out of the front door.

Sherlock gave me a 'goodbye' nod and a small smile. I returned the smile before he closed the door and walked over to the window to watch them leave. As they went out of sight down to the main road, a large, black SUV rolled up slowly along towards the door.


	9. Nine

My palms swam with sweat and I was frozen in front of the window. No one had emerged from the car yet, but I could clearly see two figures sat in the front seats. I ran to my room, packing the basics into my bag as fast and quietly as I could; every so often I checked the window, waiting to see Jim Moriarty emerge. I quickly changed out of my joggers into a black jumper, jeans, and trainers before grabbing my bag and a coat.

As I left my bedroom, I heard the excruciatingly slow creaks of the staircase and a car door slam shut. My stomach was in my throat as I silently ran to Sherlock's room at the back of the flat. His window, although two stories high, lead to a maze of alleyways of which I thought would be too time consuming for Jim and Sebastian to chase me through. The lock on the front door opened with a loud click, echoing through the sickly silence in the flat.

"Islaaaaa..." Jim's taunting voice carried through the house, sending chills down my spine.

Without a second thought, I threw my bag onto the pavement beneath me and climbed onto the outside window ledge.

"A fall like that could kill you, you know," Jim stood in the window, lazily staring down at me. "Come inside, Isla. Don't be a bad girl."

His words made the jump seem evermore the better option. I lowered myself as far down as I could and let go, keeping my body as straight as possible and bending my knees slightly seconds before impact.

"You've made a very poor decision, Isla Byrne." Jim watched as I crouched on the ground, wincing in pain from my definitely sprained ankles.

The sound of a car engine starting caused me to pick myself off the ground and run as far and fast as I could without looking back.

Soon enough, I found myself on York Street, running parallel to Marylebone Road. I weighed my options in my head while I stopped for breath; I could either keep running to Edgware Road tube station and let the underground take me god know's where for god know's how long; or, I could just keep running until I felt safe. I didn't even know if Moriarty was following me, I just assumed he would know my every move. I had to stay two steps ahead of him, do what he didn't expect me to do. I decided on the latter and ran non-stop for a good 20 minutes before entering the east side of Hyde Park. It was almost pitch black and the park was empty, surrounded by open land I half turned back on myself and headed to Oxford Street where I knew I would at least be mildly safe - a strange man can't grab a young girl in the middle of one of the busiest streets in the world and go unnoticed, surely. 

I pulled my hair into a long ponytail, shoved my coat into my bag and put my discretely unconnected earphones in. I began to jog, trying to look like a normal civilian out for a late night run, although every shadow, every cough, every snap of a twig made me jump out of my skin and widen my steps. I reached Marble Arch in a matter of minutes, jogging on the spot at every traffic light to keep up my athletic persona, but to also give the rapid beating in my chest another explanation.

Crossing the road onto Oxford Street, I felt a hand grasp my shoulder. I turned my body as quickly as I could, fear pumping in my veins.

"You dropped this." Sebastian stood before me, holding my phone in which I had been pretending my earphones were attached to. Neither the SUV nor Jim were in sight, and I looked him dead in the eyes before sprinting down the main road.

I wanted to cry, I wanted to disappear into a hole and never have to see either of their faces again. I wanted to be with John and Sherlock, to feel safe around people I knew would be safe and loved. My legs felt numb and I couldn't feel my feet anymore; luckily I spotted the tiny alleyway into St Christopher's Place and ran as fast as I could before sliding in and catching my breath, leant against the wall. I was finally alone, and wanted to cry with happiness as I was sure I had outrun Sebastian. The sound of a gun being loaded next to my head shocked the relief out of my system, replacing it with the fear I had felt acquainted with during the past 24 hours.

"If you run one more time, they all die," Sebastian whispered in my ear as he placed his phone in front of my face to show a screen split into 4. John, Sherlock, Ruby and Greg Lestrade were on each section in a security camera type of setting. As the gun pushed into my right rib, I realised what was happening. "Make it easy for all of us, and just come with me." His voice sounded tired and annoyed.

I couldn't let my friends die, nor could I run any longer.

"Okay. I give in. Congratulations." I spoke quietly, a tear bitterly falling down my left cheek.

He placed the gun in his jacket pocket and a hand on my back, leading me to the familiar black car parked down a quiet slip road. A sob escaped my lips as he ushered me into the back seat, directly behind where Jim sat laughing to himself. He turned to me and tutted.

"You've been a very naughty girl."

 


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning - things might start to get a bit more violent from now on, including murder, possible rape, and general violence.

The car journey was only about 10 minutes long, but the silence and tense atmosphere made time pass excruciatingly slow. No one spoke a word after Sebastian had climbed into the car; the only sound audible was my hitched breathing and cries I tried to compress with all my strength. Belgravia looked different at night. Perhaps it was the fact that I knew not all the home owners down the long stretch of posh houses were purely wealthy businessmen, but the stone white of the exterior walls sunk into the surrounding darkness, making the area seem sinister from the inside out. I wasn't afraid of Jim; I was afraid of what he was capable of. Yes, he was a manic, but his blatant desire to destroy every last piece of life inside of me did not phase me. What scared me, was what his psychotic mind could do the people I loved. He didn't seem the type to shoot someone in the back of the head with a bag over their face - he seemed ostentatious and willing to put on a show.

The car slowed down and the metal gates to what looked like a parking space opened. I peered over the back of the seat in front of me to see Jim on his phone and Sebastian was concentrating on driving. I could run, again. But this time I could bolt and get far away - I wouldn't go to Baker Street or anywhere crowded, I'd get the tube to King's Cross and catch a train going anywhere. The locks weren't turned on, but before I reached for the handle, the image of John, Sherlock, Ruby and Greg entered my mind. I placed my hands back in my lap and took a few deep breaths, preparing for what was waiting for me.

"Show Isla to my office. I need to make a few phone calls before dealing with her." Jim said to Sebastian as the car came to a stop.

He didn't look at me as he exited the car, just held his phone to his ear as he walked round to the front of the house. Sebastian turned the engine off and got out of the car, taking sharp intakes of breath I unfastened my seatbelt as he opened the door for me. I kept my head down as he pulled me out by my arm, his grip was tight but he was gentle as he pulled me out, making sure I didn't trip over the uneven gravel.

"I told you not to run." He huffed at me. Was he... annoyed at me?

"I wanted to live." I replied bitterly.

"You sure as hell just signed your own fucking death warrant. What made you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Running; wanting to live."

"I thought I was safe. Then when I realised the people I care about are in danger, I gave up."

"In this life - you'll never be safe, and you'll save yourself a lot of pain by isolating yourself. Don't trust anyone, don't put your faith into anyone, and don't let feelings dictate your actions." I stopped and stared at him, confused. His eyes were pained and he scrunched his nose and wiped his face as if he were about to cry.

"Come on, Jim will be even more raging if you're not in his study when he's off the phone." I jogged after him as he was a few paces ahead of me and walked quickly behind him.

"What's he going to do to me?" I asked quietly, not knowing if he would give me the answer, nor if I wanted it.

"I don't know, he's unpredictable." He squinted at me, half frowning before opening the door and letting me into the house.

Upon entry, I saw the grand staircase in front of me, the one I had attempted an escape down only this morning. How was I back here  _already_? What was John going to do when he came home to me not there? Would he notice? Of course he'd worry, that was a stupid though, but what about Sherlock? Would he be onto me? I only fooled him about my location last night because I knew he'd be uncomfortable at the upbringing of sex in a conversation. 

"Go in there." Sebastian gestured towards a door down the hall, parallel to the staircase, without looking me in the eye.

My shaking legs took me to the room and I heard Sebastian enter another set of doors behind me. I could hear Jim speaking on the phone somewhere in the house, only murmurs echoed through the halls, I couldn't make out what he was saying. As I entered the room and shut the door behind me, I was greeted with a normal looking office, the only thing that set it apart from any other household study was the M9 pistol and clip-point knife on his desk. I inspected the files scattered on every surface in the room; mugshots, files and pictures of foreign looking men on long-focus lenses. A file labelled ' **SUNDAY 23RD JUNE** ' in large, red writing caught my eye. I listened warily and heard Jim still speaking distantly on the phone. Flipping through the file, there were individual profiles of what seemed to be trained killers, mob leaders and of those sorts; looking closer, on each profile was what seemed to be a bar seating plan with an X marked in different places for each. 

"Making yourself at home, I see." The Irish drawl sent shivers down my spine, I turned to face him with the files still in my hand.

"What is this? It's marked tomorrow's date." I looked him in the eye as I spoke, trying my hardest to not show I was ready to fall into a million pieces.

"It's my guest list," he spoke casually, standing in the doorway, his eyes boring into me. "I like to know my room, makes it easier to know how to work it." 

I carried on flipping through the pages, feeling his gaze still harshly on me. As I reached the end, I saw a candid photograph of myself getting into Sebastian's taxi from Baker Street going to Callum's party - that I never made it to -. The X on my page wasn't marked at a table like all the others', but it was on the stage.

"Why am I on this?! On the stage?!" Jim chuckled to himself and closed the door before stalking towards me.

"I did tell you, but did you listen?" He said in a sing-song voice.

I stared blankly a him as he approached me. He walked so close to me I had no choice but to look him in the eye and move backwards, but as I did my back hit the wall and he kept on towards me.

"I told you: you're going to put a show on for me. You're my jazz singer." As he spoke, he nuzzled his face in the side of my neck, below my ear, and pinned my arms against the wall so I couldn't move. I heard him take a sharp intake of breath and laugh against my neck, sending shivers through my body.

"Dolce and Gabbana, Dolce Rosa Excelsa." He spoke as he sucked from down the back of my ear to my shoulder.

"Yes," I breathed, I squirmed against his touch and small moans betrayed my feelings towards his actions. "Jim, stop. Stop... I said get off!"

I wriggled and kicked against his weight on my body, but with every movement his gestures became rougher and aggressive.

"Stop!" I shouted as his right hand moved to undo the button on my jeans, landing a jab to his rib.

His grip loosened on me and I ran towards the door. Within seconds, he had grabbed my wrist and yanked me towards him.

"No, no, no. You are not going to run. If you'd have been a good kitten before I could have made this pleasurable for the both of us," he snarled through gritted teeth before throwing me onto the large wooden desk, sending papers and supplies onto the floor. "I'm going to teach you a lesson, and if you don't sit quietly and take it, then I will happily decorate my walls with your brains."

I lay still on the surface, not wanting to move an inch and send him over the edge. My breathing was erratic and my chest heaved as he placed an arm across my ribs and searched for something on the desk around me.

"Here it is." His smile was manic as he held the clip-point blade in front of my eyes.

I wriggled beneath his strength and screams escaped my mouth, he gagged me with the hand holding the blade and hushed me.

"Don't make use duct-tape to keep you quiet, you have such a pretty whimper."

I moaned a few times under his hand and quickly replaced my screams with heavy breathing.

"There we go," he stroked my face with the same hand, the knife waving millimeters away from my skin. "One wrong move from you and- oh! My hand might just slip." He traced the blade lightly across my open lips, not drawing blood but leaving a pink scratch.

His eyes shifted from my face to my stomach which was still concealed from the black hoodie I had pulled on before leaving Baker Street.

"Can't work with this on, can we?" Without processing what he had said, the knife ripped through my clothing, leaving my entire upper body bare, apart from my breasts, as he pulled the fabric off entirely from underneath me.

The heaving of my chest was agonisingly visible as he continued to trail the knife down my body.

"Best be careful not to mark these beauties, I want them on show tomorrow evening." He forcefully pulled my bra down to my ribs, leaving my chest on show.

Without warning, he leant down and sucked and bit at my nipples with no mercy. My uncontrollable cries distracted him from his actions and he stared at the knife in his other hand, licking his lips. Suddenly, the blade was being pressed into my stomach so hard I could feel the blood pouring from my insides. The stabbing strokes were short but the knife was so deep inside of my skin I was scared I would lose blood. He ignored my screams and cries for him to stop and dug the knife in what seemed like small circles before standing back and admiring his work. He wiped his brow with his arm and turned to me, his eyes screaming like lunatics.

"Well, aren't you going to see what I've done?" This was more of an order than a statement, as he grabbed the back of my head and lifted me up to see my stomach, the pain was horrific as my body bent to sit upright - but he didn't care.

When I could bring myself to look at my mutilated body, what I saw horrified me.

He had marked his territory with a blade and my crimson blood. **J.M.** had been carved deep into my abdomen. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently writing these chapters whenever I have time between sixth form, revision, and mock exams so please forgive me if I make any typos, get some details wrong or am late to update. Thank you for reading, hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	11. Eleven

**Sherlock's POV**

"Where's Isla?" John asked as we entered 221B. For an averagely intelligent man, he asked extremely idiotic questions sometimes.

"I don't know; her room, perhaps?"

"Yeah, I guess. Won't check on her, don't want to wake her up," I couldn't decide whether he was speaking to me or himself, and I didn't really care. "Do you think she's definitely in there?"

"I don't know, John! I'm not a mind reader, check if you care so much." I huffed at him, throwing my arms in the air perhaps a bit too dramatically.

"You know, you could at least pretend to care about her. She's my family - the only family I've seen in years." He murmured to himself as he walked down the hall.

Teenagers were far too emotional for my liking. I'd spent my teenage years surrounded by idiots and didn't need another one living in my home. Although she blatantly meant something to John, I couldn't be sure whether to trust her or not. In fairness to her, she was a bright girl. Mycroft did some digging and informed me of her recent examination results: she'd gained A/A*s in them all, and she had taken 4 A-levels. No note worthily intelligent subjects, just English Literature, Classical Civilisation, Philosophy and Politics. I knew for a fact she was lying about her whereabouts on Friday night, but I hadn't had a chance to interrogate further and didn't want to contact my brother too much in the space of three days.

"She's not in her room, or answering her phone." John ran into the living room, red faced and slightly out of breath.

"Maybe she got bored and went out, I know the feeling."

"Sherlock, this isn't the time for you to be a sarcastic smart-arse. She could be anywhere!"

"Alright, I'll call Mycroft or something."

"Now would be good, Sherlock!" I sighed and stood up, making my way over to the kitchen counter where I'd left my phone.

John paced up and down, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. I didn't understand why he was so worried - she was reckless. She'd lied to us multiple times since moving in, I wouldn't be surprised if she had gone out drinking again.

"Hello, dear brother." Mycroft sounded wide awake, despite it being almost 1AM.

"Why are you awake? Do you have company?"

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Isla's not here, did any of your people pick up her leaving the flat?"

"Mycroft is tracking Isla? Since when?!" John furrowed his eyebrows at me as I gave him a sideways glance.

"Nothing particularly exciting. A black SUV was parked outside of the flat, but nobody of any importance was in it. I'm tracking the number plate now... Parked in Belgravia, just belongs to a businessman: Jonathan Owen. I suspect he was using the Jubilee line to commute and didn't want to pay parking fares."

"OK, I'll tell John." I hung up on Mycroft and returned to my previous position in the living room with John trailing behind me.

"Well?! What did he find?"

"Nothing unusual."

"Right. Great. Well, I'm going to call her again."

* * *

**Isla's POV**

My hair was still in Jim's grip as the office door flung open.

"It's for you." Sebastian entered, holding my phone. He stopped in his tracks for a second to take in what had happened. His eyes lingered on my stomach for a short time before throwing my phone at me, shaking his head slightly and turning around to leave again.

John was calling. Fuck.

"Aren't you going to answer it? Very rude to ignore people." Jim spoke lazily as he released me and took a seat on an office chair opposite me. He gestured for me to answer and crossed his legs with a smile on his face.

I controlled my shaky breathing and placed a hand on my mouth as I took deep breaths through my nose, picking up the phone.

"Hi, John!" I answered with a tad too much relief in my voice.

Opposite me, I saw Jim playing with the M9 pistol.

"Isla! Where are you?!"

"I'm so sorry, I got a call about an hour ago that I needed to put some things in my accommodation or they'd let it to somebody else, I did text Sherlock but maybe I got the wrong number?" I lied through my teeth.

"Oh, okay. I probably sent you the wrong number. I was worried when we got home and you weren't here, that's all."

"Sorry, again. I didn't mean to worry you! I'll sleep here tonight and I'll probably pick up the rest of my things tomorrow evening,-" The sound of the gun being loaded caused a hitch in my breath and the blood started pumping in my veins. "Actually, I'll just text you when I'm coming - I'm meeting the person I'm shadowing tomorrow!"

"Okay. Make sure you come home soon, and visit regularly. I can't believe I've just got you back from bloody social services and now you're leaving." I could hear the sadness in his voice, but upon making eye contact with Jim, I realised I needed to distance myself from John as far as possible to keep him safe.

"I know. But this is where I was planning on going after I came to the surgery to see you."

"Yeah, I guess. Well I'll see you soon."

"Bye, John." I hung up and threw my phone at Jim, narrowly missing his face.

"Why are you making me lie to them?! I didn't ask for this! Just let me go, please! I'll do anything!" I had gone from calm and collected on the phone to John to screaming manically at Jim.

He walked towards me and attempted to hush me.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" I tried to scramble off the desk and push him away with a few measly attempts at hitting his chest.

He grabbed my wrists in one hand, more gently than he'd ever touched me before, placed the other against the back of my head. I sobbed into his chest as he whispered that everything would be okay softly into my hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim is so problematic and manipulative, why do I always root for him?!


	12. Twelve

"Get up. We're going out."

I awoke to a hard shove and a usual gunshot above the headboard.

"You have a blatant disregard for good housekeeping." I yawned as I pulled the covers over my head, momentarily forgetting the situation I was in.

"If you don't get up the next one's going between your eyes." Sebastian muttered as he walked out of my room, slamming the door shut.

I hauled myself out of bed, realising I had spent the entire night in only my underwear. How had I even got to bed? As I stood up, I doubled over in pain, remembering the letters that had been carved into my skin. My stomach was bandaged and there was a sterilising kit next to my bed; why did I have no recollection of anything after Jim tortured me? Oh god, I remember crying into his arms, I remember him being... gentle? He told me everything would be okay. He was such a different person, he was  _kind_ and  _warm_. Why? The searing pain in my stomach pulled me from the lucid fantasy that he actually had a normal side to him.

Shaking my head, I limped to the bathroom and showered, carefully removing the bandage and holding back tears as the warm water flushed away the dry blood. After washing my hair, I stood before the full length mirror in the bedroom, disgusted by what I saw. My eyes were red and puffy, my skin sallow and dry. I let my eyes trail down my torso, taking in every bruise, mark and cut. My body was littered with Jim's touch, and no matter how hard I had scrubbed in the shower, it was still there; lingering. 

A white dressing down hung on the en-suite door and I pulled it on, realising I had no clothes to go out in.

"Sebastian?" I called downstairs - no answer.

Hesitantly, I made my way downstairs. I kept my shoulders back and chin high. 

"Sebastian?" I said again, cracking open every door I passed.

"Look who's up bright and early." I turned to see Jim emerging from the kitchen, beaming menacingly at me.

"I was looking for Sebastian." My voice trailed off slightly as I swallowed a lump in my throat.

"He's gone out."

"Where? He said I was going out with him?"

"He's gone to shoot some bad men for me, he'll be back soon. What do you need?" He walked towards me slowly, his movement making me flinch. "So jumpy, pet."

"I, uh, I just needed some clothes to go out in. Since you cut most of them off of me last night." 

"Well, I was sending you out with Sebastian to collect your things from Baker Street. And I need you to pick something up for tonight."

"Tonight?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Isla? We're going out." The way he spoke to me, addressed me, sickeningly made him sound like a possessive boyfriend.

"Right, yeah. What am I picking up?"

He inched closer to me and reached into his suit pocket before pulling out a wad of £50 notes. He looked me up and down before unfastening my dressing gown, I tried to pull away but he grabbed the front and yanked me towards him. Our faces were inches apart and he dropped the robe to the floor, leaving me exposed. I shut my eyes tightly, prepared for whatever was coming next. I felt something being traced down my chest and opened my eyes to see him trailing the money across my body. 

"Something pretty." His wicked smile turned to laughter as I swatted him and picked up my gown, wrapping myself in it.

"You're sick." I turned away and ran upstairs.

"Grab a hoodie from Sebastian's room, wear it with your jeans while you're out." He ordered lazily as I reached the landing.

A short while later, my hair was in a ponytail and I was dressed in Sebastian's huge grey hoodie and my jeans from yesterday, waiting for him to get back. It was almost 11AM, I prayed John and Sherlock wouldn't be home - I looked rough and the two would most definitely see straight through my lie. 

A car horn from outside pulled me from my thoughts and I looked out the window to see Sebastian parked in front of the house waiting. I didn't bother telling Jim I was going, just ran straight into the front seat of the car.

"Is that my hoodie?" Sebastian asked in confusion. 

I turned to face him, his hands on the steering wheel were covered with dry blood and some was smeared on his face and neck.

"Is that  _blood_?"

"Answer my question first." He huffed before smiling at me.

"Yeah, Jim made me wear it as I have no other clothes until we pick the rest of my shit up from Baker Street."

"I see," he nodded as he drove. "And yes, this is blood. Just finished a job, now playing taxi driver for you and Jim."

"Right, didn't you think you should've at least washed your hands before going out?"

"Didn't you think you should've at least asked before wearing my clothes?" He retorted with a smirk.

"I don't really have the right to go against what Jim says." Tension arose in the car and the atmosphere turned awkward and cold.

"You know, I don't condone what Jim does to you," his voice was quiet but I could tell his words were sincere. "If I could, I would stop him. You're just a child - you haven't done anything to deserve this."

"Why do you care so much?" I asked gently.

"It doesn't matter, we're here anyway. John and Sherlock aren't in, Jim's sent them on a wild goose chase to find some kidnapped children to keep them busy for a while. Just run in, get your stuff, and go. I'll call you if anything happens."

Was he implying Jim had kidnapped children purely to distract John and Sherlock from me? He really was a psychopath. 

"Okay. See you in a second."

I jogged down Baker Street to 221B quickly, opening and closing the door quietly just in case Mrs Hudson was home and came out to make conversation, entirely blowing my cover. I made my way upstairs and threw everything into a large duffel bag Sebastian had in the back seat. I packed almost everything; books, clothes, make-up, skincare, shoes. I was relieved to see the SUV pull up outside the flat - there was no way I could lug this bag all the way back down the street. I made a swift exit before leaving my spare key under the Speedy's Cafe sign in front of the house and ran to the car.

"Nicely done," Sebastian said as he stepped out of the car to take my bag and throw it in the back. "Fucking hell, how much shit do you have?" I laughed as I watched him swear under his breath at how heavy the bag was, although he was extremely muscular and only had to hold the bag for a few seconds.

As we both pulled our seatbelts on, a black cab pulled up in front of the flat, from it emerged Sherlock and John. 

"Fuck. Drive!" I ducked, hopefully not too late.

"It's going to be a bit obvious if I drive away full throttle as they roll up. Just stay down," Sebastian grabbed a newspaper from under the seat and made himself comfortable while peaking over the paper at John and Sherlock. "Sherlock's eyeing me right up. And they're going into the flat... Going... Going... Gone!"

"That was too close, we don't tell Jim about that." I sat back up as Sebastian drove off.

"Agreed. Now we just got to get you that fucking gown for tonight."

"Why is he making me get a gown? I don't even want to go - I don't even know what I'm doing."

"Because it's Jim, it's what he's like. You do have to fit in with the surroundings though, make sure you don't blow any of our covers."

"So you'll be there too?"

"For a while. He's making me get a suit too."

"A suit?! Wow. That'll be a weird sight."

"Alright watch it, I've only seen you looking like shit so hopefully you scrub up well too."

I laughed and hit him on the arm, earning a toothy smirk.

"Where are we going anyway?"

"Old Bond Street, Saint Laurent or something."

"I'm getting a dress from Saint Laurent?!" I asked in slight confusion but mostly excitement.

"Yeah, don't shit yourself. You get fitted then we're out, I don't want to be in there for any longer than we need to."

Sebastian pulled up beside the large corner boutique, he reached to undo his seatbelt without realising the state he was in.

"Hold on," I lugged my bag from the back seat and pulled out some cleansing wipes, micellar water and a face towel. "Clean your bloody hands and face you idiot, you can't go in covered in someone else's blood." 

"Right, yeah. Cheers." He muttered before cleaning himself up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter isn't very exciting it's just a filler for the next one which should be up ASAP. I had horrible writers block during this one too but thank you for reading!


	13. Thirteen

I stared at myself in the mirror feeling oddly (and most likely stupidly) confident. I'd let my hair fall in natural waves and done my make-up simple yet sophisticated, wearing a sultry ruby lipstick and some thin black eyeliner on my upper lashline. I filled my eyebrows in and subtly sculpted my cheekbones before taking a shaky deep breath in and stepping into the gown. It was a silk full length maxi dress with a side thigh-high split; the neckline plunged to the bottom of my sternum and the thin straps turned almost invisible as my shoulders and back were completely bare. I pulled on some barely there silver high heels and a black longline duster out of my bag to hide the goosebumps rising on my arms. 

Making my way down the stairs, I saw Sebastian and Jim in almost identical navy suits. Jim's somehow looked darker, not only in colour, but as if his personality had been reflected onto the material. I chuckled at the sight of the two most dangerous men in the country struggling with their ties in the reflection of the front door.

"Let me help," I walked towards Sebastian and gently fixed his maroon tie while he straightened his blazer. "Perfect."

"Sebastian, get the car ready for us." Jim ordered.

After he had gone outside, Jim snaked an arm around my hip and let it fall to my bum. He slapped it hard and from reflexes I turned and slapped him in the face.

"That just makes you seem even more appetising," he laughed while moving his jaw back and forth. "I hope you prepared a song for us all."

"What?! I thought that was your shit sense of humour when you said I was performing."

"I wouldn't joke about an evening as important as tonight. Anyway, I want you to do the one I heard you singing in the shower - but do it last. When we get there you're going through a back door, you'll tell the pianist the songs you're doing and then you take it from there. If you mess up or blow our cover I'll shoot you."

"Got it." I swallowed hard, I'd never sung in front of other people in my life and now my life depended on it.

"You look beautiful, by the way." He placed a hand on my back and lead me to the car.

The drive was long, Jim and Sebastian discussed their plan in codewords I didn't understand. I blanked them out and focussed on making sure I didn't fuck up whilst performing and get myself killed.

When we arrived, I got out of the car first and entered the swanky club through a back door as Jim had instructed. The two drove further towards the front entrance one I was out of sight. 

"Hello?" I pushed open the back door to find an instrumental band sat on couches smoking something.

"You the singer?" One coughed at me.

"Yeah. Gabriella Craft, nice to meet you." I smiled while pulling my coat off and draping it over a hook.

"I'm Joe, the pianist. What songs you doing then?"

"Do you know any Lana Del Rey?" The rest of the group laughed under their breath.

"Original." Snickered one of them. I rolled my eyes and looked at Joe.

"Yeah, which songs in particular?"

"Yayo and Is This Happiness. In that order. If that's cool."

"Sure thing baby, let's go get set up."

I followed him to the wings of the stage and peered into the room, there were booths and round tables of dodgy looking men and what seemed to be prostitutes surrounding them. Jim was sat at the head of one of the tables in the centre of the room, they all looked as if they were playing an invisible game of poker. Each constantly looking over their shoulder with stern faces.

"You ready?" This was more of a prompt than a question, Joe passed me and walked onto the stage, taking a seat in front of a grand piano. The lights dimmed slightly and I took a deep breath, walking slowly to the microphone.

He started playing and I shut my eyes softly as I sung the first few words. The room fell silent and I looked around to see all eyes on me. I avoided making eye contact with Jim, but I could feel him stare burning into me; I risked a glance at Sebastian, he sat in a booth with 5 other men in suits, smiling discreetly at me. His expression made me feel relieved as I neared the end of the song.

" _Hello Heaven, you are a tunnel lined with yellow lights, on a dark night_..." I pursed my lips softly and let the song take me away.

" _Let me put on a show for you tiger, let me put on a show."_ The song finished and almost instantly the start of the next began to play.

The room remained silent but I felt comfortable in my surroundings, although everyone was focussed on me I felt a surge of confidence.

" _You're a hard man to love and I'm, a hard woman to keep track of..."_

I looked to the back of the room to see Sebastian leaving, no one paid attention to him but Jim turned his head slightly, smiling to himself as he turned back around.

" _Witch hazel, witch hazel. Betrayal, betrayal. One gun on the table, head shot if you're able._ " As the last words left my mouth, gunshots and screams erupted through the room.

The piano music kept on playing as red dots appeared on everyone but Jim's chest. People tried to escape but the heavy doors were sealed shut. As I watched in dismay, a handgun fell at my feet; I looked up to see Jim standing up staring at me.

"Now for your encore." He spoke as more people fell to the blood stained floor.

His eyes never left mine as I bent down to pick up the gun, it felt heavy and foreign in my hands. My gaze returned to Jim and he held a similar gun at me, there went the thought of taking him down - he wouldn't have been so stupid to let me do it anyway. 

Three men remained alive: two cowering behind the bar with broken bottles of expensive Prosecco littered around them, and Joe beside me still playing. I raised the gun and felt adrenaline course through me. I turned to my left and the music stopped abruptly.

One.

Shortly after, I spinned back around and faced the quivering cowards at the door.

Two.

Three.

They lay in a heap of blood, one on top of the other. Sebastian entered from a door concealed behind a curtain, a bolt action sniper rifle under his right arm.

"Hold on." I muttered, they both looked at me in confusion as I walked towards the back room I had entered. 

The band were in the same place as before and looked at me with fear in their red, bloodshot eyes.

"What happened out there-"

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

I took a deep breath in and turned to see Sebastian stood behind me, a horrified look on his face as he dropped the rifle to the ground.

 


	14. Fourteen

Sebastian ran over to me and knocked the gun out of my hand before seizing my wrist and looking over my shoulder at the bodies behind me. 

"What did you do?!" His face was filled with grief and he never looked me in the eye. 

"I don't know, I don't know what came over me." I muttered. In the moment, everything felt okay - I had no remorse, guilt, regret. 

"I can't believe you've done this, do you even realise what you've done?!"

"Of course I fucking do! Why are you screaming at me? You murdered more people than I did tonight."

"Hey!" His grip tightened and he clenched his jaw as he finally looked at me. "I killed people who needed to be killed, I do this for a job - you killed innocents. You're supposed to be innocent! You're letting him control you, turn you into a cold-blooded killer!"

"Why do you care so much? I'm doing what I need to survive."

Loud claps sounded behind us, causing Sebastian to release his grip on me and step back with his head in his hands. 

"That was quite the show," Jim walked towards us with a smile plastered across his face. "And I don't mean your little domestic."

He placed a hand on my cheek and stroked my face with his thumb, my breath was shaky and I could hear Sebastian breathing hard behind me. 

"Jim, we need to go." He urged, still not looking directly at me. 

"Yes we do," Jim's eyes never left mine. He held out his arm and I placed my hand on his bicep, he lead me over the lifeless bodies and I looked straight ahead, not prepared to see what I had done. "I'm almost proud of you, pet. Like when parents watch their boring children at boring school plays or dance recitals - not that you'd be familiar with that though."

I dug my nails into his arm and took deep breaths to contain my sudden anger.

"Did I hit a nerve?" You could hear the wicked smile in his voice as the three of us walked through the warm, late June night.

The SUV was in sight as a breeze passed us, sending a slight shiver down my spine.

"Oh -," I stopped and looked at Jim and Sebastian. "I left my coat in the back room. What if someone finds it and traces it back to me?"

The men looked at each other, both reluctant to go back.

"Sebastian, throw me the keys and we'll get in the car as you retrieve her coat."

"Yes, boss." Sebastian sighed and fished the keys out of his pocket before placing them in Jim's hand and brushing my shoulder as he jogged back to the murder scene.

To my complete surprise, Jim took my hand in his as we slowly walked to the car. The night was silent, apart from a few police sirens somewhere in the distance. When we reached the car, Jim looked past my shoulder into the dark as he stood opposite me.

"I want you to know, you can trust me, Isla." He spoke, still looking past me.

"I do trust you." 

"Don't lie to me. Just know, no matter what, I'll keep you safe and out of harm. As long as you do what I say, you won't get hurt."

"Hurt by who?" His eyes darted to mine and his face was blank.

"Would you ever betray me, Isla?"

"What?"

"Would you go against mine or Sebastian's trust?"

"No, why? Why are you asking me this?"

"I needed to hear you say it before I go."

"Go where, Jim?"

"Your birthday is July 14th, isn't it?"

"Stop changing the subject and answer me."

"Sebastian is coming back. Go to him and don't move. Do as I say, Isla."

I looked at him confused, before backing away and running to Sebastian. Jim stood and watched us as I told him what Jim had just said. Out of nowhere, a black Range Rover and a black Mercedes Benz pulled up behind where Jim was standing. Two suited men emerged from the Mercedes and approached him.

"We need to move." Sebastian whispered as he put a hand around my waist, guiding me to a secluded park across the road from the club.

"What's happening?" I was worried, scared for Jim, scared for what was going to happen to him.

I peered over a small hedge and saw Jim with his hands up, a smile on his face, being escorted into the first car by the two men. 

"Sebastian, they're taking him! We need to go, we need to help him!" I jumped up and was ready to chase the two moving cars wherever they were taking Jim, but Sebastian held me back in his strong arms and held me in place.

"Stop. He knows what he's doing, he'll be fine."

"How do you know that?! Who were those people?!" I turned to face him, now shouting in his face.

"Just trust me, please." Trust him. Jim had told me to trust them both - but Sebastian had told me before to trust no-one. The sound of sirens drew close to us, and soon enough police and paramedics were at the scene.

"Fuck, the car. We gotta get out of here." Sebastian pulled me away from my hiding place behind the hedge and I took one look back before following him.

"Isla?! Isla Byrne?!" Shouted a strangely familiar voice from behind me.

I turned around and saw none other than the Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade standing at the entrance of the park.

I froze. I didn't have the faintest clue of what to do. Sebastian grabbed my hand firmly and whispered something in my ear, I was stuck in a state of shock, especially when I saw the figure of a tall, brown haired man in a large coat approaching behind Greg.

"Fuck." I breathed and ran as fast as my legs in four inch heels could take me.


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda out of sync with the show, this is when Mycroft has abducted Moriarty and is interrogating him; this happens BEFORE his trial I THINK... During the Hounds of Baskerville? Correct me if I'm wrong but I'm pretty sure that's the order in the show - but to make it fit to my story, I had to alter the timing a bit! It should all still make sense (hopefully) but drop me a comment if you have any objections and I'll have a play with the chapter. Thanks for reading!

**Moriarty's POV**

Mycroft Holmes sat behind the two-way mirror in the interrogation room, watching as his puppets beat the sense out of me; I didn't know what information they wanted or if they needed me to confess, I was in a trance of my own mind, I had blocked them out since I stepped into the car outside of the club weeks ago. I hadn't uttered a word to the British government's dismay, i didn't plan to until I got what I wanted

As I expected, finally the Iceman took it upon himself to find what he was looking for. Mycroft entered the room and took a seat in the chair opposite me, he rested his hands in the table and stared at me intently.

"What will it take for you to talk?"

I smiled and leaned back in my chair, I had the government in the palm of my hand.

"Depends, what do you want to know?" I took pleasure in being the one with dominance in the situation.

"I want the codes. The ones you used to break into the highest secured places in England."

"It'll cost you."

"I'm prepared for whatever your terms are, within reason."

"Tell me what Sherlock was like when you were younger. Tales of the Holmes brothers."

"What do you want, photo albums?"

"Oh yes, that would be perfect. I really want to grasp what Sherlock Holmes was like as a child. I bet he was a loner, children don't like it when you're smarter than them and know it." 

"I'll tell you it all. But I want to know what advantage the girl is to you."

"Ah, Isla. She's lovely, isn't she?  _That_ will cost you even more, maybe a cabinet shuffle. She's very special to me."

* * *

 Hours passed and I had everything I needed for the final game. My takedown of Sherlock Holmes was set up very nicely, I had a few final touches to make before I could send all the little dominos falling.

"Now, I've told you everything you asked for. Isla Byrne, what significance is she to you?"

The image of little Isla filled my mind, she was so petite but strong, beautiful yet deadly, and I was ready to break her.

"She's my toy. I use her when I'm bored. She's  _very_ interesting, not at all how you'd imagine."

"I know she is a suspect to the death of a young boy, she was present the night you murdered the majority of our most wanted list, and I also know your men killed her parents in 2006."

"I was wondering when that would come up. They owed me a lot of money, I helped them get out of a very sticky situation. I heard through the grapevine they were going to flea the country, I stopped them before they had the chance. It was mere coincidence that their best friend became buddies with your baby brother. I'd kept tabs on Isla for years after, when she flagged up after leaving child services and entering 221B, the fun was calling me."

"Why do you have her now?" His face became sterner than before, which I didn't know was possible, and I sat back in my chair and smiled at him.

"That, Mr Holmes, is for me to know - and for you to find out."

The Iceman stood up and walked towards the door, turning around to face me as he spoke loudly.

"Alright. You can let him go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting to update for so long, stupid exams and revision. I'm going to try and keep updating as much as possible between now and summer, as I have an extremely busy next few months and it pains me to say that the most time I'll have free is March... I'll make something work though, I love writing this story and I love the feedback I've been getting, thank you!


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is happening while Jim is still being interrogated, sorry if it's all a bit confusing lol

**Isla's POV**

Running.

Voices screamed my name behind me, Sebastian never let go of my hand. The adrenaline pumped through my veins, mixed with fear and anxiety. Every now and then, we'd make a random turn, bolt down a dark alley, or cut through a church graveyard or pocket park. 

After what felt like hours, we ended up outside Kensington Tube Station. I couldn't hear the calls of my name anymore, or the single car siren chasing behind us. I turned in circles, I didn't know where to go or what to do, Sebastian was making a call with his fist balled at his side, face red with rage. I could see his gritted teeth and feel the anger in his voice from where I was standing. He finally ended the call and walked back towards me.

"It took some work, but I've got a safe house we can stay in for a while. We're not going back to Belgravia - too risky."

I was about to reply before a phone ringing cut me off, I felt a vibration in my coat pocket and pulled out my mobile to see John's name flashing across the screen. Sebastian saw the caller ID and swore under his breath.

"Give it here." He ordered. I placed it in his hand and he threw it onto the floor, smashing it with his foot until there was no more sound.

"Yeah, great. Thanks for that. Could've just ignored the call." I crossed my arms and shot him a dirty look.

"Don't be so childish, they can't track it now."

I felt like a child in the way he spoke to me, and how he walked off expecting me to trail behind him. Reluctantly, I followed him like a lost puppy until we reached the safehouse; a three-storey townhouse turned into flats just off Sloane Square.

"Seb, please tell me what's happening." I grabbed his wrist before he could press the buzzer on the front door. He turned to look at me before pulling his hand away and tightening his gaze on me.

"You've never called me Seb before..." He whispered, barely audible.

"What is going on?" I searched his face desperately for answers, my mind was spinning and I needed him to pull me back down to earth before my head exploded.

"I,-" 

"Moran, that you?" A thick, gruff American accent cut him off and he turned to the comm to reply.

"T95, calling in." Sebastian replied.

There was a brief silence before a loud buzzing sound and the front door unlocked. 

"Come on." I followed him up two long flights of stairs, before stopping outside of an apartment marked 11A.

Sebastian banged on the door a few times with no answer.

"Open up, Halliday." He whispered loudly, constantly checking our surroundings.

"Who's the girl?" A reply came from the other side of the door.

"She's a friend, let us in or I'll knock the fucking door down."

The door cracked open and Sebastian elbowed it fully open, pushing me in as he did. After entering he quickly bolted the door behind him, the split second his back was turned, I heard a gun being loaded and felt an arm tightly snake around my neck.

Sebastian turned around with his gun pointed above my head and rage in his eyes.

"Let her go, Halliday."

"Who the fuck is she?!" I felt the grip around my throat tighten and I used all my force to pull the arm away.

"I told you, she's a friend! Now, don't make me do something I'll fucking regret. You know I'll do it." 

The gun was pushed against my temple excruciatingly hard and the man directed his speech at me.

"What's your name?!"

"Isla- Isla Byrne. Please don't shoot me."

"She's no threat to you, we just need somewhere to hide out for a while." Sebastian spoke up, his hands tightening around the gun.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

The gun against my head moved and a loud shot followed, Sebastian fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder and moaning in pain.

"Seb!" I tried to run to him, to break free of the man's hold, but he turned me around to face him and pushed me against the wall.

"If you're both using my safehouse, I want payment." He spat with a dirty grin.

The man Sebastian had referred to as 'Halliday' was large and muscular, he had short but messy hair and a scruffy beard to go with it. 

"I have money, you can have it all. I have my card you can take it." I stuttered in anguish.

"Nah, nah. I want something else from you, pretty little lady."

"Don't fucking touch her, you scumbag." Sebastian grunted from the floor, trying to move but the pain overwhelming him.

"Shut the fuck up, Moran! Don't make me fucking come over there." He waved the gun aimlessly in Sebastian's direction before dropping it to the floor and turning his head side to side, cracking his neck.

"Now, where we gon' start, huh? You as pretty without this ballgown on?" 

He roughly grabbed my throat and titled my neck up, biting and sucking everywhere he could. He pulled down one of the thin straps, exposing half of my chest and roughly pulled the other side.

Through the slit in my dress, I bent my knee and kicked him in the balls. As he doubled over I kicked him to the other side of the narrow hallway and grabbed the gun off the floor. He lunged towards me and I swung the gun against his head until I was satisfied with the damage done and watched him fall to the floor. I knelt beside him and grabbed his collar.

"This is a fucking Saint Laurent dress." I spat before throwing a final punch and watching his head hit the ground.

Pulling my dress back up, I ran over to Sebastian and sat beside him, gently rolling him over to him back.

"Are you okay?!" I cupped his face in my bloody hand and checked his wound with the other.

"No. The bastard fucking shot me." He laughed, before crying out as I put pressure on the bullet hole.

"Sorry! It's a through and through, it didn't hit any bone or muscle, you're gonna be okay."

"It's just a flesh wound." I saw the toothy smile on his face and couldn't help but laugh.

"Just a flesh wound." 

 


	17. Seventeen

"How's the shoulder?" I sat myself next to Sebastian, who was spread out across the king sized bed we were supposed to be sharing.

After getting him standing up, we left Halliday unconscious on the floor and ran across the square and booked a hotel room. I'd finally managed to convince him that if we kept quiet, our heads down and used fake names we'd be fine. Although, I don't think he was in much state to argue. We straightened ourselves up and I'd rummaged through Halliday's drawers and found a first aid kit; I cleaned up his shoulder before leaving the 'safehouse' and entering the cold night's air once again.

"It's better, thanks for stitching me up. How'd you learn to do that?" He turned on his non-wounded shoulder to face me. I lightly hit his chest and he retreated to his side of the bed, letting me lay down beside him.

"There were fights almost every day at the foster place, bloody brutal ones too. You kinda get to know your way around some antiseptic and stitching when you're surrounded by boys twice your age who don't play fair."

"Shit, sounds rough." He mumbled, never taking his eyes off me.

"It wasn't as bad as it sounds," I smiled, trying to ease the tension. "How did you know that cunt back there, anyway? Halliday?"

"He was an army buddy."

"You were in the army?!" I asked before he had the chance to finish answering my first question.

"Yeah, signed up as soon as I was 18. Did 4 tours with the Royal Marines Commandos, First Class SAS Sniper. Anyway, Halliday was a US Navy SEAL Sniper, we were assigned together in Iraq. Our two teams worked together to bring down terrorist forces, we were the only snipers on the missions; we were the only ones they needed. Some of the things we did - they kept me up at night for years. I can kill with no remorse, easy; I can kill a dirty terrorist and his wife, easy. But some missions, they got us killing innocents. That was something I was never okay with. But Halliday... he didn't care. He was a machine. Tell him to kill a newborn child to fuck with a suspect and he'll do it without a second thought - he  _did_ do it. That was the mission that got me fucked up, I was honourably discharged. I took out the wife, seconds after she'd been in labour, and he killed this minute old baby. The retaliation got half our team blown up. The target wasn't even our guy, in the end. Messed me up. I ran into him years later, he said some people were after him, that he had a safehouse and was living in London to cover his tracks in the US. Gave me his number and the address if I ever needed it."

"Fuck, Seb. I'm so sorry." I didn't know what else to say, so I purely just nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck and placed a hand on his chest.

"I like it when you call me that." He spoke softly.

"What?"

"Seb. No one's ever called me it before - either Sebastian, Moran, or Sebby if Jim's in a good mood."

We lay silently for a few minutes, listening to each other's breathing. I could feel Sebastian's heartbeat under my palm, soft and calm.

"Can I see it?" Sebastian broke the comfortable silence and I looked at him quizzically before sitting up cross-legged.

"See what?"

"Your stomach... what Jim did to you."

His request took me by surprise, but the sincerity in his eyes persuaded me to let him in. I slowly slipped out of my long dress and draped it over the bed frame. I took a pillow and covered my strapless bra, also pulling the duvet over my legs and thong covered crotch. I couldn't bare to look him in the eye, nor look at my mutilated stomach. Neither of us said a word, and after a few minutes I went to stand up to get ready for bed.

"I better brush my teeth and stuff." I muttered, moving away from Sebastian.

Gently, he sat up and took my hand.

"I'm going to protect you, even if it kills me."

"Just tell me what is fucking going on," I sighed, tired of being kept in the dark like a naive child. He didn't respond, just looked at the bed sheets ignoring my plea. "Whatever."

I pulled away, eager to put on a dressing gown to cover myself up.

"Iz, hold on." I stopped in my tracks and turned my head to see Sebastian hauling himself out of bed, clutching his arm, and making his way over to me.

As soon as we'd got into the hotel room, he'd ripped off his blazer and shirt because they were pressing against the fresh stitching, leaving him shirtless and me in my underwear - making me even more eager to put something on.

"Can I just-"

"You wanted to know what's going on, and I'm telling you."

"You'll tell me everything?"

"Within reason."

"Okay then," I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows cockily, "off you go."

"Jim had tonight planned, every single thing. He knew who he was going to kill and who you were going to kill. He knew how long it would take for the government to show up and arrest him. He knows how long they'll keep him for, because his only motive is to bring down Sherlock Holmes. He's fucking obsessed. All those men tonight, had an 'interest' in Sherlock, whether it be to kill him or try to recruit him - Jim didn't want that. He wants Sherlock for himself, he wants to be the one who can control him. He's going to be held by the government for 2 weeks and 5 days, he'll give them some information, they give him some. In this time, he wants us - you - to infiltrate Baker Street again, get close to Sherlock and John, gain Sherlock Holmes' trust. If you can't do this, or refuse to do this, I have orders to kill you and make it look like a fucking accident. So do as I say, please, save me the trauma.


	18. Eighteen

**Sherlock's POV**

"It was her, I'm telling you, John!" I shouted in exasperation across the kitchen table, slamming a mug of tea down as I spoke.

"Sherlock, Isla is in South Bank. What would she be doing the other side of the river, in the early hours of the morning, fleeing from a crime scene in a bloody ballgown?"

"I have to say John, I was 99% sure it was her too." Lestrade stated from his position leaning against the doorframe, sipping from his own mug.

"Last night was hectic, maybe we're all just tired and confused."

"Maybe you're just in denial!" I replied, louder and angrier than I had anticipated.

The room fell awkwardly silent, only to be broken by Mrs Hudson's arrival.

"Morning, boys! Hello, Greg, how's the case going from last night?" 

"Tiring. Could really do with some biscuits."

"Not your housekeeper!" She shouted as she laid some ironing on John's chair. 

"John, how's Isla doing? She hasn't been back yet." She asked, scuttling back in the kitchen to make herself some tea.

"I'm not sure, really. I tried calling her earlier but it went straight to voicemail."

"Oh, don't you worry - teenagers need a life of their own! I remember when I was her age, didn't speak to my parents for weeks! Was always out with my friends, I didn't have any time for them to be checking up on me. I remember once, I had gone to a boy's house and my dad started banging on his front door when we were halfway through having-"

"I'm sure she'll call soon." John spoke quickly, thankfully cutting Mrs Hudson off from one of her usual reminiscent anecdotes.

Everyone sipped their tea, thinking about last night outside the crime scene. 100 low to medium profile criminals had been murdered in a nightclub, no trace of a killer - not one a trace I could detect. And then DI Lestrade spots Isla and a 30 year old man hiding, watching everything. One call of her name and the girl flees. It didn't make any sense.

"Call her again." I ordered John.

"Excuse me?"

"I said call her again, Isla."

"Last time we tried her phone was off." He sighed.

"Fine, I'm going down to where she's staying." I state and stand up to find my coat.

"Sherlock, what has gotten into you?" The two men follow me to the door, just as it opens in my face.

"Oh, hey. Where you all off to?" Isla stands before us, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. 

She's distressed, it's hidden in her eyes - but the reason isn't. Her hair is shinier than it ever was living with us or any other time we've seen her, not from product, but from a softer water pressure. Hotels usually have soft water pressure. But she wasn't staying in a hotel, she's staying in student accommodation, the Southbank area has harsh water pressure, like most places in London. The only places that don't are expensive parts, Kensington and Chelsea. She had no make-up on, the bags under her eyes weren't prominent but noticeable, the placing of the darkness suggested lack of hydration in the body and fatigue. Also, her hands were subtly shaking. Not from the cold, the flat was well heated and there was only a slight breeze outside. This wasn't a nervous twitch either, it seemed to be subconscious - but from what? 

"Where have you b-" I began to ask the obvious, before John cut me off mid-sentence.

"Isla, what are you doing here?"

"I came back to see you guys, we're on a break for a few weeks - is this a bad time?" She asked innocently, looking confused between the three of us.

"No, it's just... come in. We need to talk."

The now four of us re-assembled at the kitchen table, a deathly, thick silence hung in the air above our heads as everyone refused to be the first person to speak up.

"Where were you last night at 11:48?" I broke the silence, seeing as no-one else planned to, getting directly to the point and earning a disapproving glance from John.

"That's awfully precise of you," she smiled with raised eyebrows, although nobody's mouth even twitched upwards; she cleared her throat and carried on speaking. "I was on set, we wrapped up at about 12:45, then the company booked us all hotel rooms near where we were filming on location, James had forgotten to book us transport." She laughed fondly, as if she was having an inside joke with herself.

"Well, that's all cleared up now. Happy, Sherlock?" John proclaimed, standing up to put his coat on.

"Where are you going?" I asked as Lestrade followed him, doing the same.

"We're getting some food, Greg is staying for a while so we can work on the case here - I did tell you that, Sherlock."

"Right. Okay."

With that, Isla and I were alone in the flat together for the first time.

"So, where did you think I was?"

"More like where did I know you were." I muttered.

"Cut the shit, Sherlock. Where did you think I was?"

"There was a mass murder at a high-profile nightclub in West London. We arrived at the scene and DI Lestrade swore he saw you - I thought I did too."

"He kept eminently quiet for a suspicious Detective Inspector. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you." She stated with a cocky smirk on her face.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" She eyed me suspiciously before replying to my request.

"Why?"

"Isn't it what people normally do?"

"Normally do when?"

"When they want to get to know each other."

"Sure thing, maybe you can buy me a latte." 


	19. Nineteen

**Isla's POV**

Sherlock and I walked silently in the direction of Regent's Park, I desperately wanted to ask why all of a sudden he'd proposed a walk, but I kept quiet and enjoyed the early summer breeze. We walked side by side, yet he somehow managed to take the lead, constantly turning and making shortcuts, bypassing every coffee shop we passed. It was evident he knew where we were headed; I didn't know whether to be nerved by this or not. What if he'd taken me out to interrogate me? Or he really knew that was me last night? Running from him and Greg had been a stupid idea, I must've looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Abruptly, he stopped outside of a small, overlooked cafe on the outskirts of the park. He looked at me awkwardly and gestured to go in, holding the door open for me as I passed him with a tight-lipped smile.

"Ah, signore Holmes! Ciao, come, sit down. Benvenuto, signora." A dark haired man with a thick Italian accent greeted us once inside, pulling out two chairs at a table by the window with a bright smile on his face.

"Grazie." I spoke as I sat down.

"Biscotti and coffee, please." Sherlock ordered, making the man laugh, as well as the chef behind the dessert display.

"Do we even have to ask?" The waiter replied. "And for you, signora?"

"Amaretti e un cappuccino, grazie." With a smug grin on my face I handed my menu to him and acted completely nonchalant as Sherlock stared at me in confusion.

"Brava." The waiter smiled before walking away.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, loving the fact that I had one up on Sherlock; I revelled in the moment a little longer as I replied to Sebastian's blunt but worried messages.

"Your father's side?" Sherlock finally spoke up.

"Correct." I replied, still on my phone.

"Your mother's side are Irish?"

"Yup."

"Then why do you have your mother's maiden name as your surname?"

I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, "I thought you'd have worked that out already."

"I have, but I'm seeking validation - even though I'm sure I'm right." He muttered.

"Go on then, blow me away. How did you come to your conclusion?"

"The way you spoke Italian was almost perfect, but the way you pronounced your vowels is southern dialect - your father taught you. You scratched your cheek as you spoke, not from nerve, but by habit. It's the same place you have a very hard to spot burst vein, normally can't see it with make-up on but it's visible today. There's also one on your forearm, I spotted it a while ago, it's rather a large one. Now, I doubt it's from injury - there's nothing else to suggest that, I think someone hit you. Your father, perhaps? He wouldn't hit just you so I'm guessing your mother, also. They  _were_ unhappily married before their death, so why would a mother let her only child carry the name of an abusive man she no longer loved?"

I wanted to reach across the table and smack him in his perfectly chiseled stupid little face, but deep down I knew he was right. I remembered the nights with the screaming, and the crying, and the smashed bottles of liquor; I remembered getting on the wrong side of my dad, who I thought was my hero, one too many times and ending up with scars to prove it. 

I tilted my head slightly and made an 'I guess' expression with raised eyebrows, breathing a sigh of relief when the waiter returned with our orders. We smiled and thanked the man before he bowed slightly with his hands behind his back.

"Prego, enjoy."

Sherlock and I sipped our drinks in comfortable silence for a while before he propped his elbows on the table and interlocked his hands under his chin. He stared intently at me and I didn't know whether to say something or pretend to sip my latte.

"I am... sorry, if I've come off rude towards you. John says I do that." He finally spoke up, his words taking me by surprise.

"What's caused this sudden outburst of empathy?"

"You didn't ridicule me after I made my deductions, I'm used to being told to piss off or called a freak." He cleared his face before turning pink in the cheeks after speaking, his eyes darting anywhere but my face.

"It's actually pretty impressive. I think so, anyway."

"Thanks."

"Shall we get going then?" I gestured to call the waiter over, but Sherlock quickly stopped me.

"No, don't worry about paying. He owes me anyway." 

"Ah, right. Okay." I didn't dare ask what for, but quickly changed my raised hand into an awkward wave goodbye, earning a half smile from Sherlock.

* * *

We had been walking with little to none conversation for about half an hour, when Sherlock stopped and sat on a bench overlooking the park. For a warm, late June day, it was surprisingly quiet out; it was nice really, taking in the view with no forced small talk.

"Would you lie to me?" Sherlock pulled me from my thoughts, I turned and looked at him with a confused look on my face.

"Probably not, why?"

"Probably. Yes or no?" He asked, more sternly than before.

"No, I wouldn't." I lied through my teeth.

"Was it you last night?"

The look in his eyes made me want to spill everything; how in the space of a few days, Jim Moriarty had bought out a part in me I thought was buried and gone. How I'd had more near death experiences in the past week than in my entire life. I was scared and ready to break down and shatter and I couldn't trust anyone around me. I was being trained to betray and take down the man beside me, I had been ordered to gain his trust and use it to Moriarty's advantage. I had shot 7 people while looking them dead in the eye, almost been raped, and my body mutilated by a psychotic man who took me as a free hostage. Everyone around me was in danger and I was lying to the only family I had left. I'd had enough and my lip was beginning to tremble when I saw a familiar figure standing a few feet behind Sherlock. He was dressed in running gear and looked me dead in the eye, holding his shoulder in pain before jogging away without looking back. Reminding me who I belonged to and what I was bound to do.

"No, it wasn't."


	20. Twenty

"Happy birthday!" A shout disrupted me from my sleep, I jolted forward in bed to see John and Sherlock holding a chocolate muffin with an '18' candle sticking out of it. John beamed at me and Sherlock tried his best to give me a not-so-obvious forced smile.

"You guys," I laughed as I rubbed my eyes, leaning forward to blow the candle out with my duvet wrapped around me. "This is so sweet, thank you."

"John proposed we sing to you, I don't think that would have been much of a gift though." Sherlock stood in a dressing gown with his hands behind his back, a discreet smile on his face.

"Thinking about it now, I'm glad you talked some sense into me. Cup of tea, anyone?"

"Ooh yes please." I smiled, taking the muffin from John.

"My usual." Sherlock ordered, earning an eye roll from John.

He watched John leave the room before cautiously perching on the edge of my bed, hands still behind his back. It had been almost 3 weeks since Sherlock had taken me to his 'getaway cafe', as he had called it. In the time I'd been staying back at Baker Street, I had followed Jim and Sebastian's instructions very closely; I'd gained Sherlock's trust.

A few nights ago, I'd wandered to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water when I noticed Sherlock sitting at the table. It was almost 3am, yet he seemed to be completely unaware of this. I sat with him until 5, just talking; he'd told me things he never wanted to tell John. How he was worried about our safety, he knew Moriarty was planning something - he just didn't know what. I sat with him for hours, knowing I was helping this psychopath ruin a good man's life. 

Guilt had overwhelmed me the past few weeks, I don't know what effect Jim had over me when I was with him, but it seemed to evaporate whenever I was in Sherlock or John's presence. I felt as though none of it had ever happened, yet I had this blood on my hands I could never wash off, no matter how hard I scrubbed. Some days I had wanted to tell Sherlock everything; it was me on the night of the shootings, I wasn't in my right mind - it was a different version of me. The only thing pulling me back towards the psychotic side was the image in my mind of a red dot appearing on the chest of everyone I cared about. 

I wanted to feel like I was finally at home, finally part of a family, but every time I felt close to being whole again his tantalizing, sickly, beetle eyes appeared in my head. I heard his soft but deadly voice ringing in my ears. I felt his touch linger on every inch of my body and I knew there was no escape. 

Every time I got closer to Sherlock, I knew deep down, I was ruining him.

"We got you something- if you don't like it you can return it, I won't be offended," Sherlock moved his hands from behind his back and placed a large, messily wrapped dark blue box on my lap. "John wrapped it."

"Jesus Christ, how were you bloody holding this behind your back for so long? It's heavier than me." I laughed before ripping the paper open.

Inside, was a full set of Harry Potter books - the Italian collection I had told Sherlock about a week or so ago. I'd told him I remembered visiting my cousin in Milan when I was little and seeing him reading them; he'd let me borrow the Prisoner of Azkaban but I desperately wanted the rest and could never find them.

"Where did you find these?!" I exclaimed, embarrassed to feel tears welling in my eyes.

"I have a knack for scouring the internet, -"

"Oh, Sherlock I thought we were going to give it to her together. He also sent me out to almost every bookshop in London." John spoke, walking in with our cups of tea.

"You don't even understand how much I appreciate this, thank you guys." I smiled, turning it into a happy laugh so I wouldn't start crying.

* * *

An hour or so later, the boys received a call from DI Lestrade, meaning they had to make a trip to Scotland Yard; Sherlock was needed to crack some old cases. 

"Do you want to come, Isla? I know it's not the most riveting thing to do on your 18th but at least you won't be alone." John asked.

"Yeah, sure why not. Is it okay for me to go though?"

"Yes. If anyone has anything to say about it they can speak to me." Sherlock spoke, adjusting his collar then making his way down the stairs.

John and I looked at each other, raising our eyebrows sarcastically before John placed an arm around my shoulder as we exited to flat to enter that taxi Sherlock had hailed.

It was a nice half hour drive, John asked if I had any plans with my friends and I realised I had never spoken to Ruby after the night I didn't make it to the party. I made a mental note to call her when we got to the station.

Once we arrived, we headed straight to Greg's office before being interrupted by a tall, slim dark haired woman.

"Alright, freak." She spoke bluntly to Sherlock.

"Donovan." He muttered in reply.

"We're here to see Lestrade, is he in his office?" John asked, attempting to break the tension.

"Yeah, he is. Who's she?" The woman eyed me up and down with a dirty look on her face being aimed at me.

"I'm Isla Byrne, who are you?"

"Sergeant Sally Donovan, what are you doing here?" 

"She's living with us - she's my goddaughter." John answered for me as I smiled through gritted teeth at Donovan.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock. You're recruiting children now?"

Greg walked towards us, making his presence known by coughing loudly.

"Hi you lot, wanna come into my office?" He asked, wearily eyeing Sally as she crossed her arms with a smug look on her face.

Following behind the 3 men, she grabbed my arm as I passed her.

"Watch him, he's not who you think he is." She spoke cockily but quietly, staring me down to feel like a child being told off by a teacher.

"Don't touch me." I muttered, pulling away from her and jogging into Lestrade's office.

John and Greg were filing through numerous amounts of paperwork whilst Sherlock paced up and down beside the window with his fingers on his temples. It was only 9AM, and I figured we'd be here for a while so quickly excused myself to call Ruby.

I found a secluded hallway through a few double doors and pulled out my phone, luckily getting service. I pulled up her number from my contacts and pressed the call button, her phone answered within seconds.

"Hello?" A voice that wasn't Ruby's answered.

"Hey, it's Isla. Is Ruby there?" I asked tentatively.

"Izzy, it's Marie - Rubes' mum." Her voice was shaky and I felt my gut twist.

"What's wrong? Where's Ruby?"

There was a brief pause, before she spoke up again.

"I think you need to come down and we can talk."

"Marie, I can't, I'm sorry. Please just tell me what's happened."

"Oh my love, I'm so sorry you have to find out like this. She was... h-her body was found in a warehouse yesterday." Sobs erupted from the other end of the call.

I hung up the phone and ran down the corridors, desperately trying to find an exit. I ran through a half open fire door and dropped my phone on the ground, leaning my hand against a brick wall and throwing up on the floor. This couldn't be happening. 

My body shook violently as I covered my mouth. Her body was found in a warehouse - she had been murdered. What if this was my fault? I did everything Jim told me to, I hadn't run or told anyone anything; he'd been arrested, could he even be behind this?! 

"Happy birthday, Isla, darling. Did you miss me?"

 

 


	21. Twenty One

"What did you do?" I swallowed hard and spoke, a mere whisper escaping my mouth.

"Come with me, Isla. Come home now."

I stared at his outstretched hand and shook my head violently.

"Stay away from me," I snarled and went to run back through the ajar door behind me. I felt a swift tug of my arm and then I was hauled over someone's shoulder. Sebastian's shoulder. "Seb, put me down!"

I kicked and cried but he held my legs down effortlessly, muttering something I couldn't understand. 

Scotland Yard quickly became out of view as Sebastian carried me, running and ignoring my pleas. He came to a sudden stop and I heard the familiar sound of the car being unlocked and opened, before he threw me in the back seat and rushed to join Jim in the front.

"I hope you were both bored without me." Jim drawled as he typed away on his phone.

Sebastian said nothing and I rolled my eyes at the lazy arrogance he seemed to have perfected.

"I refuse to be a part of this anymore." I said shakily.

Jim laughed before turning around and looking at me.

"Seriously? You think that's something you get to decide?"

"Yes. I don't care what you do, kill me, whatever. I'm not ruining good people's lives."

"I sent you to infiltrate and you come back blinded by sentiment, I'm ashamed." He mocked and took out his phone once again, holding it to his ear. "Light them up."

"What did you just do?" My palms began to sweat, trying to decipher what damage he had just caused.

"We'll be taking a slight detour." He snickered as Sebastian made a sudden U-turn.

I sunk down in my seat, my breathing became erratic at the thought of Jim having the world beneath his fingertips. I thought of Ruby, laying lifeless in a cold, isolated warehouse. I knew it was my fault - I needed no clarification. The image of her cold and alone sent goosebumps sprawled across my skin, I didn't mean for this to happen. How did I get here?

"They all fall  _down_..."

Jim's sing-song voice interrupted my thoughts. I lifted my head to look out the window and felt my stomach twist; Scotland Yard was on fire. Thick, black smoke coated the sky above us and I realised no visible part of the building had been saved. 

The car didn't slow down as we passed, but I could see limp bodies being dragged and lifted through the rubble. I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed to see out the back.

"See what happens when you don't do what I say?" 

"Are they dead?" I asked blankly, feeling nauseous.

"John and Sherlock? No - as long as they were good boys and stayed in DI Lestrade's office. But hundreds of innocent lives have just  _burnt_ because of you."

I turned back around in my seat and widened my eyes, praying John and Sherlock somehow survived.

"I don't care, as long as they're okay."

"For now." Jim muttered.

The street Sebastian had turned down looked awfully familiar, I squinted my eyes, observing the rows of council houses. We turned left on a roundabout and I realised where we were. The road was quiet, and as we approached it I heard the explosion before I even saw the building. Children's cries immediately erupted from my old care home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long - I've had awful writer's block and my life has been taken over by exams. I'm not massively happy with this chapter but oh well, I'll make sure the following ones make up for it!


	22. Twenty Two

Smoke blurred the sight before me, something I had gotten used to over the past few weeks. I watched as filthy rich men ran their filthy fat fingers over prostitutes on their laps, eyes fixed on me in awe as I sung for only one man in the filled room. Although my eyes never left Jim's, I knew the criminals were unaware of the sudden red dots appearing on the back of their heads. I sung to the word Sebastian knew to shoot on, and stood back to watch the men fall like dominoes. 

"You're getting better at this, pet." Jim purred as he made his way onto the stage, brushing my cheek with his finger. 

"I learn from the best." I replied in monotone, used to the blood stained dive bar floors.

"No, no, my love; this is all you."

His grip tightened on my chin and yanked it roughly to face him. It felt as though the more I lost myself inside, the more alive he became. His beetle eyes buzzed as he searched my face for any remorse I had witnessed. I was weak and he knew it, but cold-blooded murder phased me no more.

"Cleared." Sebastian grunted, breaking the silence. 

I could no longer look Sebastian in the eye. Since the day Jim took away my entire past, something in him had changed. It was as if he'd grown tired of being James Moriarty's right hand man; but he'd also grown apart from me. 

I kept quiet as we drove home. My legs were sore and the cuts on my back felt like they were re-opening from last night. Every time I promised myself I wouldn't fight back anymore. Every time I broke down and snapped. He fed off my weakness.

Scuttling up the stairs to my room, the same as every night for weeks, I didn't hear him follow me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I shut the bedroom door behind me, but a sense of loneliness also washed over me.

Jim never showed me affection; perhaps because I denied it, but it left me wanting more. 

Like all the others, I didn't sleep that night. I replayed scenarios of John and Sherlock being over the moon I was gone, leaving them alone finally. Jim was sadistic, but at least he wanted me. He'd been playing me bugged phone calls between the pair, expressing their joy of not seeing me since the explosion at Scotland Yard, they carried on their lives as normal and not once discussed trying to find me. I didn't believe Jim at first - I knew the power he had over people and things he could create, but after a while I stopped caring and he wore me down. I don't care if the phone calls and texts and conversations in the flat are real, I was still with Jim and Sebastian; my godfather couldn't care about me that much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda different, it shows the evolution of Isla/Jim/Seb's relationship since the last chapter and also shows how Jim is manipulating Isla into submission.


	23. Twenty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I've stated this before, but this fic really doesn't follow the series exactly. The events are kinda the same but I've mixed it up to fit the story I want to do! Hope thats cool, thanks for reading x

"Where's Jim?" I yawned, seeing Seb in the kitchen searching for something in the fridge.

"Out. Busy day today." He grunted before pushing past me intentionally.

"Why are you being like this? What the fuck did I do? What, have you got some fucking personal vendetta against me all of a sudden?!"

"Don't," he held eye contact with me for the first time in a month or two. "Fucking don't."

Unsatisfied with his reply, I knocked the coffee out of his hand as he walked away and stood infront of his face. I felt close to tears but the last thing I wanted to do was show it. Anger bubbled inside of me as I finally snapped, not purely at Seb but at everything I had been through.

"What's your fucking problem?!"

"You slept with him! You slept with Jim. You let him manipulate you, all I see is you getting weaker and closer to him, it makes me feel sick to my stomach. I can't fucking stand it. What are you doing, Isla? You're better than this. You act like he's your world when you can't see he's tearing yours apart to help build his own. You stopped fighting."

I stood before him in shock, his eyes searching my face for some kind of reaction. I looked to the ground as the morning sun shone through the blinds, highlighting Sebastian's eyes boring into mine.

Without a word, he backed me up against the wall and landed his lips onto mine. My stomach turned with butterflies as I gripped my hands in his hair. The rage he'd spoken with moments ago transferred to the kiss, it was powerful and passionate and I couldn't get enough.

"Fuck, I've wanted to do this for so long." He muttered, trailing rough kisses down my neck.

"He'll kill us." I whispered, my breathing hitched.

His face was millimetres from mine and heavy breathing filled the silence.

"He won't find out."

* * *

I sat in the back seat of the black SUV, Jim and Sebastian arranging times and locations, all of it going over my head. Seb loaded his sniper rifle at every traffic light whilst Jim furiously typed key codes into his phone. Over his shoulder, I saw a screen split into 3, similar to the one Seb showed me all those months ago to lure me back into Jim's grasp. 

"You haven't told me what I'm doing today." I spoke up.

The men both exchanged glances, Sebastian's jaw clenched, a mad growing smile playing on Jim's lips.

"Oh, pet, your part is the most important. You're going to follow me to the roof, when you see the signal you'll know what to do."

"Wait, what? Roof? What signal- and what will I do?"

"Are you questioning me, Isla?" He turned around in his seat and placed a hand on my thigh, squeezing it gently. It wasn't a reassuring gesture, more of a 'I hope you know the power I have over you' grip.

"No, I'll do whatever."

"That's what I like to hear," he purred. "Out you get, Isla, its time for the final show."

Ambulances whizzed past us as the car stopped outside what seemed to be hospital. I climbed out, risking a last look at Seb who was watching me through the wing mirror; he had caution in his eyes that I shrugged off, thinking he was just nervous about Jim finding out what we had done.

"Who are you texting?" I asked casually as I saw Jim type after receiving a message.

'I'm waiting... JM'

"Hospitals are a boring place." Jim spoke, ignoring my question. I rolled my eyes and followed him through the main entrance.

"Why's that?" I asked in monotone.

"They're trying to keep people alive, how dull. Extending their already boring lives, they accomplish nothing but trick themselves into a false sense of success."

"Alright, Aristotle, enough of the deep shit thanks."

He smirked and lead me through numerous corridors and up too many flights of stairs to count.

"Where are we going?" I huffed, out of breath.

"Up."

"For fuck's sake," I murmured. "Any more stairs and you're going to give me a fucking asthma attack. I don't even have asthma but you're giving me it."

"Moan again and I'll put a bullet in your skull. We're here."

I followed behind him onto the rooftop, overlooking the life around us. He walked straight to the far ledge opposite us and sat down slowly. 

"Make yourself comfortable." He shouted, before throwing me a loaded hand gun.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any typos, wrote very quickly and my new laptop loves to autocorrect words that don't need it!


	24. Twenty Four

"Wait, what's this f-" I began to ask in confusion, before the sound of Staying Alive echoed across the roof. "I'm so confused. What is happening? I don't even know what I'm doing up here. Why are you like this?"

I walked over and picked up the gun, placing it in my coat pocket where it was easily concealed, completely over the aura of mystery that seemed to so conveniently follow Jim everywhere he went. As I straightened out my coat, the rooftop door opened to reveal a disheveled Sherlock standing in the entrance.

"Isla?" His eyes widened, and the grip on his phone tightened. 

"Well, here we are at last. You, me, and Isla." Jim spoke, staring over the rooftop's edge with a bland but deadly tone to his voice.

My heart raced in my chest and I swore I could taste blood. Sherlock's gaze remained on me before Jim started a long speech about beating Sherlock. He mentioned the name Rich Brook and I realised I'd seen files of it in his study - it explained where he'd been the past few weeks. They discussed computer codes and Jim got into Sherlock's head, all the while they acted like I wasn't there. 

"That's your weakness, you always want everything to be clever. Shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building, nice way to do it... Well, it's one way to do it." As Jim spoke, every bone in my body told me to hate the man. The man who took me away from everything I knew and turned me into his little monster. But I couldn't. I was transfixed on every little word that came out of his mouth; I watched the way he gained control over the smartest man I knew and toyed with him to do what he wanted. 

I remembered Sebastian and how he kissed me, the words he spoke and how I didn't want them to be true but in that moment I realised I had never really fought Jim Moriarty. Somewhere, deep inside, I wanted it. I wanted the adventure and the power, I thrived on the fear in people's eyes as they realised who Jim was and that they had 3 seconds left to live. I rejected his touch because I felt it was the right thing to do, but now I wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on me. 

"My suicide." Sherlock stated, pulling me out of my trance.

"Isla, pet, come over here." 

Both the men stared at me as my feeble legs moved towards Jim. His outstretched arm snaked around my hips as his mouth pressed against my ear. I gasped, not bearing to look in Sherlock's direction.

"Remember all the times he told your god-daddy that he didn't care about you. He didn't come looking for you after the explosion. He never cared. He wants everyone to think he's on the side of the angels when deep down he's a fraud. You can see it, look into his eyes, Isla. Look at him."

I looked up to see Sherlock pleading with his eyes. Hate grew in my stomach and Jim's words twisted the image I saw standing before me.

"You're a f-fraud." I stuttered.

"No, Isla, don't lis-"

"That's enough, Sherlock. Remember what I made you, Isla. Remember all those men. The frauds. I made you strong, you helped me stop them. There'll never be another you; just remember who made you." Jim spat, a hand tracing my cheek as he stepped away from me.

He stood in the gap between Sherlock and I. Reaching his hand out to Sherlock, who took it and firmly shook, Jim pulled a handgun from his coat and opened his mouth wide.

"Jim!" I cried, jumping out of the way as he fell, screeching as his blood splattered on my face. "What did you do?!"

I sobbed, fallen to the floor gasping for breath.

"Come on, Isla. We can get out. It's over. John will be happy to see you."

"No! This is your fault. If you weren't a fraud he wouldn't have done this - he'd still be alive, you sick bastard. You're a fake and you disgust me."

"He's planted a seed in your head, Isla, snap out of it! He's brainwashed you, you know none of it is true!"

"Shut up, Sherlock. I heard you and John talking about how I was a nuisance, always in your way. I didn't go looking for your hospitality. I didn't want your friendship."

"Listen to yourself! He's turned you into a monster, he never cared about you, John and I  _do_! Just go down to John, they need to see me fall." He whispered.

Sherlock turned around and walked to the edge of the roof, standing on the brick perimeter. He opened his phone and called John. He spoke about the phone call being his note, how he was a fake and wasn't coming down. This was the only way out for him.

"Isla is up here, John. She's going to come down. Goodbye, John." He threw his phone aimlessly to the side and turned to look at me. "Go. Leave, Isla."

I walked closer to him, diverting my gaze from Jim's lifeless body. I reached into my coat pocket and felt my hand turn cold. Before I realised what I had done, Sherlock's eyes widened and his chest jolted backwards into the empty space behind him.

"One."


	25. Twenty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me?

"Oh my god..." I whispered to myself, uncertain on what I had just done.

I ran to the edge of the roof, Sherlock's body lay still on the pavement below. There was a gun beside him - it must've fallen from his pocket on impact. Blood stained the path below and people gathered in a rush, I dodged when they looked up, my palms sweating and my heart in anguish. Turning to Jim's body, I shook and cried. He was lifeless, a smirk playing on his lips from the final expression he gave before his- I couldn't even think it. My tears streamed onto his suit and I touched his cold, pale face. 

"Isla, we have to go." Sebastian burst through the door with red, bloodshot eyes and his sniper rifle in one hand, his other reached out to me.

"Jim's dead." 

"I know, Isla, we need to fucking go. You just shot Sherlock in the chest and a lot of people heard the shot - they know it wasn't suicide."

I stood still, needing a second to process what the fuck had just happened. Even dead I wanted the life he offered me. He tortured me and moulded me to fit his plans - but I wanted more. The adrenaline kept me alive and he drugged me with it. I hadn't felt this alive since the day I murdered William.

"Isla, for fucks sake! Let's go, please!" Sebastian begged, constantly looking behind him.

I ran to him, into his arms and he embraced me tightly, letting the heavy door to the roof close behind us.

"It's gonna be okay, Iz. We're gonna be fine. We just gotta get out of here. You hear me?" He whispered heavily.

I nodded my head through the tears and ran ahead, making sure the hallways were clear before leaving. 

"I need to get my shit from the stairwell, go to the car and wait for me. Don't let anyone see you, and if they do just bolt. You need to get out."

"But I don't want to go without you, Seb." My heart pumped and my breathing intensified, I didn't trust myself alone and I felt safe with Sebastian.

"You have to, I'll be right behind you I promise."

I gave him a nod and went on my way, jogging through the halls, turning down corridors I couldn't her footsteps coming towards me. Taking a sharp turn, I ran straight into Greg Lestrade.

"Fuck," I muttered, my eyes darting to an exit.

"Isla you have to come with me, Sherlock is dead and you're in danger - John is outside, he's waiting for you. Why are you here in the first place?" He scratched his grey hair and spoke with an authoritative urgency.

"I'm sorry." I mouthed and punched him hard across the jaw, running as fast as I could out the fire exit.

"Isla!" Screams from behind me grew quieter as I darted through the streets, concealing myself in a busy market a few miles away.

I became invisible against the coddled floors and bustling atmosphere, I would no longer be found by anyone, not John, Greg, or Sebastian. I trusted them all, but 2 would never forgive me for what I had done, and the other I was growing too closely attached. Life does no favour for sentiment. I loved the life Jim gave me, and I was set on carrying it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MANY OPINIONS ON S4 IT KILLED ME BUT INSPIRED ME TO CARRY ON THIS FIC I AM SO EMOTIONAL OVER JIM'S ENTRANCE ACTUALLY ICONIC


	26. Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's mentions of rape in this, especially reliance to one's abuser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo I started this fic 2 whole years ago what the hell man

I dont remember the last time I was in control of my own body.

I don't know the last time I could feel my own body.

I don't know the last time I knew who I really am anymore.

Since when was it so easy to ruin an impressionable young girl's life with big lies and guns and sex? Th e sex was most likely the winner; no, the ecstasy and thrill of not knowing if I was going to die tomorrow. The only ecstasy coursing through my veins now comes in the form of MDMA, my chemical happiness.

I think about the sex a lot. Men I sleep with now are rough, like he was, but they're different. They're the guys that tease you for the 2 minutes they're on top, then roll over like a dog and demand belly rubs. They make an attempt to choke you or spank you or grab any available portion of skin, but their hands spasm out of control after all the shit they've snorted into their systems. When they call you a slut or a whore it is to be taken at face value; you're meaningless to them.

I was meaningless to him, however. But his roughness felt like a snake, wrapping itself around my body in every spot he knew would soon kill me. 

Its funny and fucked up that I reminisce early in the morning or late at night of how his hands grabbed my throat and threw me against hard things. I cried but began to beg for more. Has that always been my life? Upper-middle class born, poverty raised, turned sex slave and murderer for a man I witnessed shoot his brains out not long before I shot a man who could've been 1/2 of the only family I have left in this world.

It all stems from men, men and their money. I started off singing in dive bars after Jim left me defenceless and alone, and I left Sebastian deadly and alone -an awful combination. Knowing you can kill people who deserve it with no repercussions, surrounded by emptiness and abandoned by sentiment can do awful things to a guy. And a girl, I guess.

The dive bars were my start up, I sung sultry songs, fucked men who paid well and once in a while left them dead - but that was only the men officers would consider it a favour.

I got bored quick. Humorously quick. I found the right wrong people and mentioned the unspoken name, it lead me to a list of men that were willing to help me continue his dirty work. One 'agent', shall we say, directed me to "Sebastian Moran, that guy's a myth. Fucked up dude, he killed his entire family in a house fire as a welcome to the trade and some real dirty shit went down with him and another fella in the army." Appetising, I thought. Perhaps there was a whole layer to him I'd left undiscovered. Truly, it would remain that way.

After the boredom passed and I wore ballgowns to shady social gatherings with my temporary sniper perched on a ledge within sight, but only the sight that you would notice if your respective sugar daddy was being a bore and you were scouting the room for something interesting; sadly, before you'd even seen him, you were marked.

"This is my idea of fun... It's you, it's you, it's all for you, everything I do... I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?" I drawled slowly and carelessly before my cycle of deterioration began.

A few bodies dropped to the ground that night, a few more slung themselves over the back of their chairs. Cold hard cash was exchanged between fat and ashy fingers, the same ones that in the same moment dragged a hand up someone's daughter's thigh. It was that night I spiralled from boredom to bleakness to nothing. I'd entered 'wounded deer in the headlights' mode; the spotlight was his car and his face was my wound. I was 17 again and I felt his hand bruise my ribs and his knife pressed to my neck, the pain was fresh and those ears shook fear back into my throat. I was impressionable all over again, and he could've asked me to cut my stomach open and I'd have complied. I was living this life I'd craved, but it wasn't complete and it pained me to know I needed that one particular fucked up and toxic man to fill it. He wasn't there. I blamed it on the champagne and spent every day to follow finding new things to blame my sight and sensitivity on


	27. Twenty Seven

"You owe me £50, you little slag."

I was woken up by saliva spat on my cheek, accompanied by a scruffy haired rat-like looking man crouched in front of me.

"Fifty-fucking-quid I said!" This time, a kick to the ribs accompanied.

"Alright, fucking hell, I said I'd get it to you. Calm down mate." I yawned, batting him way like a fly and pulling my sheet-less duvet back over me, my head rested on my backpack.

"I want it now. If I don't have it by tonight, you'll pay the old fucking way."

Thereafter, my routine began. I tidied myself up in a public bathroom and retreated to my meeting point. The car pulled up and the afternoon followed the way it always did. There were no details, no genuine exchanges, there was nothing but supply and demand of service and the payment that followed. It wasn't laborious but I was bored of it by now; there was a certain irony in getting money through sex work to gain the independence and credibility I desired.

Things go to shit quick. It's twisted - you don't even  _feel_ your  _own_ life wasting way in front of you, your own body and mind fighting one another. Maybe there were signs, I just chose to ignore them.

I stuffed the £70 in my bra and began the walk of shame to the drug den I called home. Temporary home. Hopefully. I always went through my secret window entrance; maybe it was the drugs or the events over the past year but paranoia crept up on me more and more every day. I don't even know what over. One of Jim's friends coming back to find me? Sebastian tracking me down after the way I left him? Seeing John? The first man to show me true philia and I hurt him in the worst way possible.

Inside, it was quiet as usual. People slept under anything they could find and most minded their own business.

"You fucking got it then?" I was greeted with a smack across the left hand side of my face.

"Fucking hell, yes, I do. Gimme a sec." I spat back.

I pulled the money out of my bra and threw it at him before turning to walk away.

"You kept me waiting too long. I want another £50 or you can pay the rest like a good girl."

"Fuck you. I only have £20 left and I'm not touching you even with a barge pole you dirty git." 

My god, that made him angry. His temples and jaw clenched and he made his way toward me before he was interrupted.

"I'd lend you thirty but I don't quite remember where I put it." 

I turned around, already shaking from the sound of his voice. 

"Sherlock?"

My teeth jittered, my knees buckled and I thought I was going to throw up. Muffled conversation could be heard from the room beside us, I thought nothing of it until John emerged with a young boy trailing behind him.

"Ah, hello John," Sherlock spoke. "Didn't expect to see you here, did you come for me too? I found our friend, come on Isla, we're going home."


	28. Twenty Eight

Why was I not surprised this man was actually alive?

I don't know why I got in the car. I don't know what the fuck went through my mind. 'Yeah, Isla, go back with the man who tried to give you a family, but you betrayed and almost killed him and his best friend twice.'

As for Sherlock, he acted like nothing had happened. He even offered me a cup of tea in the car once we got home... Home. Can I even call Baker Street that? Would it be ethical after everything I did. Shit, at least I still have a fucking conscience.

There was a woman in the car - not thin but not fat, short bleach blonde hair. I didn't trust her. She put her hand on John's knee a couple of times, to comfort him? She wasn't there. She didn't experience any of it - fuck her. Not that I was there for him though.

"We'll talk when we get in. I mean really talk - no bloody lies." John spat out of the silence. I simply nodded. I was afraid.

Not afraid in the way  _he_ made me; not as though a Russian agent was going to bust through the front door and smother me with chloroform. Scared as if I was getting told off by the headteacher for skipping lessons or calling the maths teacher a cunt. I could genuinely feel my stomach curdling, my legs went fuzzy and my heart was skipping beats. When I was little, I used to  _always_ need to pee when I was nervous, I used that as a delaying tactic. The sight of the road I'd got the cab down so long ago was horrid. It felt like home, but it was corrupted and I wanted to be sick. I was going to be sick.

"I'm gonna be sick, shit, let me out." The car pulled over 3 spaces further down than usual and I bustled out closely followed by John; I couldn't tell if he was making sure I didn't run or trying to help. He placed a hand on my back, I threw up again.

* * *

"We know everything, so don't lie. Please, just listen, no interruptions, it'll be hard enough getting through this whole." John sighed as he rubbed his temple, not being able to bring himself to make eye contact.

The blonde woman kissed a stoic John on the cheek before leaving the flat to give us some 'privacy'.

I sat back and crossed my legs, unsure of what would follow.

"We found files. Moriarty had his eyes on you since he became infatuated with Sherlock, we did not know this. He obviously saw you as a weakness, something to get to him."

Sherlock stepped in, "on the roof, I believed Moriarty would be the one to attempt murder. Little did I know he would turn it not only onto himself but also you. He made you do it - somewhere inside your head he'd wired it into you. I anticipated a gunshot to my chest and or head,  _from him mind you_ , luckily your aim is not that great therefore we didn't need much of a risk. You fled, Molly Hooper called a team to retrieve me and when the police got up to the roof Moriarty's body was gone. That, I don't quite understand - but he is dead."

"While you were staying with us, you came downstairs at 3am one morning - I was awake, we spoke. You reached to make a cup of tea and that is where I saw 'JM' scarred into your stomach - it confirmed the theory I had curated since you came back to Baker Street. In perfect honesty, I did not expect him to train you to be a killer, well believe you are a killer, but he did - and then he left you. As for Sebastian Moran, he contacted us and informed us of your whereabouts, that is how we found you. Now, questions?"

"I shot you, you were dead."

"Yes, Isla, do keep up. You're an awful shot and you practically got my shoulder, we were prepared for much worse. If everything went to my plan, I theorised Moriarty would have shot only just off the instant kill zone - so I knew I was dying but there was nothing  _he thought_ I could do about it."

"Hold on - his body disappeared? And what do you mean about me _believing_ I'm a killer? Wait - Sebastian contacted you?" 

"Yes, I assume one of his men disposed of it. You're not a killer, Moriarty got you addicted and everything spiralled, there may have been drugs but we don't know for sure. Yes. He tipped us off."

"I only recently got into drugs, he didn't give me shit. I'm my own person." It didn't feel right, but I've never been one to follow my instinct. Something inside of me burst and I became agitated and angry. "Look, I appreciate you taking me here and letting me clean up - but I can very well make it on my own thanks."

I got up to leave when Sherlock, of all people, lurched at me and pushed me back down into the seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed. John looked so pained it broke my heart there and then, he made his way over to me and momentarily placed his head in his hands.

"You're staying here, Isla. You're going to get off of drugs - you could've contacted me, you know you could've come here. You didn't need to let yourself do all that shit when you had a family right here in our home!" The room fell silent and Sherlock's grip loosened.

A sob escaped my mouth before I clamped a hand over it.

"I killed a boy, John. I killed him when I was only little and I didn't care, it didn't phase me, I killed him John - oh my god!" I sobbed and sobbed, surprised John could even make out the sentence.

"I know, I know - shh, it's okay. I knew. It's why they wouldn't let you into my care. It's okay, you're here now."

 


	29. Twenty Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm like 99.9% sure the urine sample bit isn't scientifically accurate but go with it!! Dramatic effect and shit!!

"Piss pot."

"Pardon?" I choked as John handed me a small specimen pot.

"We didn't drive all the way here for you to be uncooperative, just do it. Please."

I sighed and made a point to not look him in the eye before grabbing the pot and excusing myself.

Sherlock and John had barely spoken a word to me this morning, aside from demanding I got into the car with them, not telling me where to. At least with Jim he treated me like an adult.

I planned on confronting them both on multiple things said last night - pre-breakdown. So humiliating. I can't believe the first time I saw them (after attempting murder) I cried into John's arms. How pathetic. What must they think of me? It was almost caring of them, taking me to Molly Hopper for a drug test; however I couldn't shake the feeling they were doing it to prove a point. I could imagine them taking bets before I got in the car; "£50 it's heroin." "No, I bet he got her hooked on cocaine." 

When I couldn't sleep I took LSD; not addictive in itself, but the hallucinations were better than my real life. Perhaps 2 months after I gave up on clinging onto the people I used to be, I started to pass out in the early hours of the morning but was met with a dream I couldn't decide whether I wanted to claw out of or stay in forever. Jim was with me - like alive, standing before me saying my name kinda shit. I could smell him and I could feel his touch on my dirty skin, or was it his dirty touch on my skin? I felt myself sink down into a puddle and he grew so big above me I screamed and screamed and felt like my lungs were on fire. I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking, paranoid and had the same dream a few times every month. I dreamt of Jim, of Sebastian coming to save me and then shooting me in the leg, leaving me to bleed out. I had dreams of pushing William down the stairs, my parents, Jim, Sherlock and John stood watching. They said 'this is what made you'. 

John was waiting in the exact same spot when I left the bathroom, guarding it in case I ran. I did debate running - I still am. Perhaps a place to stay for a little while wouldn't be too bad, get myself back to who I really am and then leave. Maybe I'll flee the country - go to Italy or New York. Maybe I'll leave everyone and my life behind. Maybe I'll kill myself after a few days of living with Sherlock and John; the guilt will probably drive me to it, not to mention the cold turkey.

"Give me a little while, it won't be long I just want to be thorough." Molly Hopper spoke, speaking to nobody in particular, too focused on the pot of piss in her hand.

"Well, I did it. Can I go now, or?" I couldn't believe I was asking permission from John.

"No. We don't know where you'll get off to this time, you're staying where we can both see you."

"Actually John, I'd like to speak with Isla alone. Follow me." Sherlock piped up from the corner of the room, making a dramatic exit expecting me to traipse along behind. I did - but not because he'd told me to, I was merely curious.

I followed him for a few minutes down corridors and open day wards, he flashed a key card at a man in scrubs and lead me into a bleak, sterile room with a bed and numerous labelled cabinets.

"Sit down." He ordered without making a hint of eye contact. I silently complied as he rustled through drawers.

"So, Mr. Holmes, if it was all just an act and you knew my big bad secret the whole time - why did your sentiment seem so real?"

"I could ask you the same. Let's not get witty or poetic, I enjoyed your company. You enjoyed mine. We got on and it made John happy so I kept your game quiet as not to break him into tiny pieces. You made John happy. You were the only thing in his life that never willingly abandoned him; even I did that for a while."

There was a dead silence as I swallowed the building lump in my throat. He made me feel vulnerable. I felt exposed

"Were you angry with me?"

"For shooting me? No. For not coming home after, yes. John was never angry, he was depressed for months, however." As he spoke, he made his way over to me with various antiseptic wipes and creams. "I see Moriarty took the curtesy of stitching the cut back up, but there's a secondary infection within the scar tissue. You'll need a course of antibiotics."

"I've lasted this long, I don't need them."

"You won't be 'lasting' anymore. I won't have it. I know what you can do and I see it in your eyes how much he hurt you. I can see it in the way you hold yourself, or cut yourself off from talking in fear of speaking out of place. I can see in the way you walk, how you slightly limp or hold your stomach when you can sit down. You don't need to tell me; I'm not asking you to. I don't want you to hide it anymore."


	30. Thirty

"LSD. Nice, really classy Isla."

"Oh give it a rest John, what did you expect? A bit of weed? What do you even class as a 'classy drug'? I mean, I'd go onto coke, its good enough for Kate Moss and it'd make me skinny, but its the mess and if you can't sniff it off a wad of £50 notes is there really a point?"

"You're winding me up on purpose, stop it. You're grounded."

" _Grounded?_! Sorry mate, I'm 18; I think we've passed that stage, John. I'm not a fucked up little orphan that you can adopt for your own self-gain anymore."

" _My_ self-gain? My-?! No, you're right. You're even more messed up now. I'm going. Find your own way home, come on Sherlock." 

Sherlock was smiling throughout the entire argument, Molly Hooper retreated into a corner and looked into a microscope pretending to be busy. Holding back a sneer, Sherlock raised his eyebrows at me and followed after John who was walking extremely quickly for a small man.

"H-he's only looking out for you, you know." Molly piped up for the first time in a while, making shaky eye contact with me. I leaned against the counter and pushed my hair out of my face with a sigh.

"Yeah, I know. I never really did the whole family thing - I dunno how to act around him. And he's right, I am way more fucked up now." She looked a little nervous as I spoke, I stifled a laugh and smiled at her. "Sorry, its all been a bit mad. I think I forgot for a while I'm only 18. Lots of suppressed emotion. I can come off a bit - much."

"It's ok. He tricked me, too."

"Huh, who?"

"Jim, Moriarty I mean. I was just silly - he pretended to work in IT here and he was my boyfriend. Well - we went out for drinks. I didn't know, I was stupid." She turned bright red, almost looking like she was going to cry. 

"Oh wow. Fucked up guy, aye." I knew it was true, I just couldn't shake the feeling I wanted a bit more of him. Just one more time. It was almost as if I was losing who he created - probably for the best.

"If you ever want to talk, I can give you my number. You can text me, or call, I don't mind - you don't have to. I Just thought-"

"Yeah, that would be nice, thanks." She wrote her number on a little peri dish sticker and I stuck it to my phone case. We shared an awkward nod before I left the hospital - I debated thrown the sticker in the bin, but she was trying, and I should too.

I knew how awkward seeing John at Baker Street would be, I wanted to make a detour but he would worry and who has time for 36 missed calls and a small, panicked man. I hailed a cab and made my way back 'home'.

"Fuck this," I muttered under my breath. "Can you take me to South Bank instead of Baker Street please mate?" 

No reply.

"Excuse me?" Growing impatient, I knocked on the glass - he didn't budge. We were driving down Baker Street.

"Fucking hell, you'd have made at least another £20 off me if you went where I asked." I huffed, grabbing my bags in a mood, fucking weirdo. I chucked the money in the small slot and opened the door. "Thanks for nothing, prick."

As I made my way to the door, I took one final look back at the cab. Fuck.

"Sebastian? Seb! Wait!" Finally he took off in a speed, I dropped my bag and pitifully ran after him. "Stop, wait! Sebastian!"

The curtain opened in 221B and I had to shake myself out a trance to act as though nothing had happened.

"What happened? Why were you calling after the cab?" John emerged from the flat, arms crossed.

"Oh, I think I left my charger in there but he didn't stop. Only one I've got."

"Right, well you can use mine then. I've got your bag, come upstairs."

Sherlock was waiting behind him, not breaking eye contact with me. Under his breath, he muttered "you said Sebastian."

"No. I said phone charger-ation... charging station. You should get a hearing test, they're free at Specsavers, you'll thank me." I smirked and made my way ahead of him upstairs.

"I just wanted to say, sorry for the things I said earlier. I overreacted. It's hard seeing you like this."

"It's fine, I'm over it. Just leave it now. I'm going to my room."

He went to say something, but stopped himself.

* * *

Was that really Sebastian? Why would he be spying on me - he only ever did that when Jim forced him to. I thought he'd hate me after I left him, why he be checking up on me voluntarily? He told me he wanted to protect me but if need be would kill me, mixed signals or what. 

He was always 'sickened' by what Jim did, but never tried to stop it. Maybe he liked the idea of being a hero, but not enough to put the effort in.

As I had ignored John's shouts for dinner hours earlier, I left my room and went into the kitchen to raid his biscuit stash. It was 00:06, Sherlock was sitting at the table.

"Cup of tea? I'm getting shortbread."

"No, thank you. Would you sit? I'd like to ask you something."

"Is it gonna be deep? I don't have the mental strength for a cryptic conversation right now."

"Oh, um - just leave it. Go back to bed."

I pulled a chair out opposite him and sat back. "Hit me with it, I was just being stupid. What you wanna talk about? Girl troubles? Boy troubles? I'm good with both."

"What happened to you?" His question was frank and took me aback slightly, I hated it when he made me lost for words.

"Thought you knew it all. That is what you said earlier."

"Yes, but I need to hear you say it.'

"Why?'

"I just need to know." There was a pain in his voice, a slight crack I had never heard come out of him. 

"Please don't tell John."

"I won't. You have my word."

So I did. We sat there for a few hours and I told him everything, from start to finish. I cried when I thought about it all together, my skin felt dirty with his touch. I was such a fool for believing he  _wanted_ me. It was almost like therapy; my vision of the past events were clearly laid before me and I wanted to be sick and what I let him do to me.

"I'm glad he's gone." Sherlock spoke quietly.

"Me too."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dad John Watson is the new Dad Steve Harrington, I'm calling it. Also Molly and Isla I am here for this girls gotta stick together against emotionally unavailable men.


End file.
